Daddy Diaries, Part 6: The Most Ridiculous Argument

My wife is like an ant. She works hard and is a straight-shooter. She’s able to see the big picture and can turn parts of her brain off and on to get shit done. I, on the other hand, am a lazy grasshopper. I sing songs in the summer, prance around in the grass, and get upset because nobody ever taught me how to dougie.

But somehow, this grasshopper convinced the ant to get married. Can you believe that? And miraculously, the system works. In fact, you should see us dealing with our toddler. We’re like a NASCAR pit stop. We’re like two WWE wrestlers at dinnertime — if she needs to tag out, I tag right in. And like NSYNC in the 90’s, we’re able to make great music together, until the grasshopper changes the rhythm and tune unexpectedly, of course.

I’m about to tell you about one of the most ridiculous arguments my wife and I have ever had.

Before settling into suburbia, our apartment in San Francisco was “cozy” (shout out to in helping make small things sound larger than they actually are). Our space was limited, but intimate, which meant we were up in each others faces often. This is fine because I like my wife’s face. She however, may or may not like my face depending on which day of the week it is, so hide and seek was a terrible game for her. There was literally no place she could run away to and I would always find her (oh hey gurl whatcha doing?). To add, we only had one tiny bathroom, causing a lot of shared personal space.

One day, while we were both running around trying to get ready for an event, I went in for a shower. I turned the water on and that’s when the yelling started.

My wife runs in and grabs her toothbrush. As she’s brushing, she sees my awkward dad-body getting into the shower. Usually she wouldn’t even notice my one and a half abs (out of 6) which I’ve been flexing so generously for her, but in this moment for some reason she stops, spits out her paste, and says “Wait, what are you doing?”

I turn with a smirk, “Taking a shower? Why, you want to jump in and save on our water bill?”

“Ew no. You’re getting into the shower wrong.”

“What?” I reply.

Let me back up and share what our shower looked like. Here is a Google image I found, which gives you a good idea of our bathroom layout (just imagine our scenario being 2x smaller). Our shower had two sliding doors just like this, and I’ve labeled them A and B here. This will be important, so pay attention.

An example of our San Francisco apartment shower layout. Notice the sliding doors, A and B.

Now how does any sane person enter the shower, you ask? I will tell you. You slide open Door A. You turn the shower on. You wait for it to get hot. Then, you enter the shower through Door A so you can immediately adjust the temperature if necessary.

My wife shook her head in disbelief. This, according to her, was extremely incorrect.

“The right way” she explained, was open door A and turn the shower on. You wait for it to get hot, close Door A, and then enter the shower through Door B.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I exclaimed.

First off, if you enter through Door B, you have to get wet and reach through the water to adjust. Imagine if the water is too cold. You’re telling me you get cold water on you and then flop around adjusting the temperature? No way, Jose. Not a chance, Lance. Get outta here, Sameer.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” she shouted back.

The toilet is right next to Door A. There is no space to adjust if you enter through Door A — it’s way too cramped! With Door B, you have the flexibility to maneuver. Also, you do not enter through Door B until the temperature is the correct likeliness via Door A first.

We went silent, trying to catch our breaths. Thanks to the thin walls, we both realized we’d probably shared our shower squabbles with everyone living on 24th street.

“You’re wrong,” I calmly asserted, as my wife continued to clinch her toothbrush like it was a weapon.

“I’m never wrong,” she re-reminded me.

“So what’s up, you want to save on our water bill or what?”

“Gross,” she said as she slammed the door.

“Your loss!” I shouted as I entered through Door A.

Are you Team A or Team B? Comment or email me on who’s right. 

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