My bed is against the wall next to the bathroom. Very early most mornings, my housemate is up and clomping through their bedroom, shutting the bathroom door loudly, and begins their AM ritual.
I am not privy to their privy-doings, I can only speculate based on what I hear:
In anger, they pick up a large prop brush and in anger they briskly brush their hair.
Angry at the job this comedically large brush did, they fling it angrily at the sink.
A faucet is turned on. With anger.
Torrents of water rush out. Angrily.
Something pops into their head they must remember at all costs, I am assuming, because they begin muttering and/or singing words in a language I am not familiar with... almost English, just garbled.
They pick up their toothbrush. Not an easy task, as it is leaning in the corner where they left it after using it the night before. Almost as long as they are tall, it is hefted onto the sink, where they must open the gigantic toothpaste and squeeze it angrily onto the brush. How it is then applied to their teeth I have no idea. In some furious way, I guess.
A shampoo bottle is picked up and discarded noisily. Another bottle picked up, then thrown aside.
Three shampoo bottles are lined up, then 2 more placed on top of them, then 1 more on top of that.
Yet another bottle is thrown at this set-up, all the bottles topple, and my house mate wins a Kewpie doll.
So, the day begins.
