In "Convenience"

My apartment is what is known as a “convenience apartment.” In this convenience is a drastic euphemism for “really really really ridiculously small.” Another common name for such apartments is a “studio apartment,” which is also a misnomer, since no studio is this small. The small size has its advantages, of course. I can sit at my little table and get something from my tiny fridge without getting up. And cleaning house takes about 20 minutes, max. One of the coolest things is that I have a Murphy bed. You don’t see those much anymore—those are the ones that you pull down from the wall. Unfortunately, the novelty wore off quickly when I discovered that you couldn’t really shut people up in the bed like they do in the movies. Mostly it just stays down and unmade.

The big upside of this apartment is that it is cheap. I really wouldn’t be able to afford any other apartment in West End. But it has plenty of down sides. The bathroom is very cramped; it is hard to squeeze in and out because the room is only about as wide as the door. I’ve seen handicapped restroom stalls that were bigger. The toilet is smashed between the shower and the sink, so you feel a little claustrophobic while sitting on the throne. Everything is proportioned a little differently, which tells me why most bathrooms are proportioned the way they are: they just fit better. The sink is at a funny height so I drip all over the small counter when I’m shaving. The toilet doesn’t even have a lid, which makes it seem even more like a tiny public restroom stall. I almost expect to see a big institutional roll of toilet paper hanging next to the john, but then again, that would be too big to be “convenient.”

The worst incident so far that has happened as a result of this “convenience” involved the bathroom. I had some orthodontic work done last year and I still wear a retainer at night. I reached up in the medicine cabinet to take the retainer out of its case and I dropped it. It fell onto the sink, bounced, and did a swan dive directly into the toilet bowl. The sounds from my shriek of horror were only drowned out when the Redhead realized what I had done and began to laugh hysterically. No wonder I love her, eh? She continued to roll around on the floor, emitting gales of laughter in a very unsympathetic manner. So then I was left there miserably staring at my retainer in the toilet, wondering what in the world I would do. And I’m supposed to put that thing in my MOUTH? Aaaaaaaah!

So I have a new retainer now that has never been defiled by porcelain. And I am very careful when handling this new retainer so it doesn’t meet the untimely demise of the old one.

Convenience my eye.