FAMILY MATTERS
Lamenting the lua, where the guys let their inner slobs rule

By Ka'ohua Lucas

"Hui, eia nei!" I hollered.

"What, Mom?" the 13- and 9-year-old said in unison.

"Who did this?"

As they peered over my shoulder into the bathroom, both shook their heads (unconvincingly) in disbelief. Water had formed a pool in the middle of the ceramic tile floor. Footprints led from the bathtub to the vanity sink. A pair of boxer shorts lay at the entrance to the bathroom. A maroon towel was left crumpled on the floor. Toothpaste splattered the rattan-framed mirror.

"Wasn't me," my eldest said.

"Not me," the youngest piped in.

Most every morning I am faced with the duty of sopping up water from the bathroom floor.

In the past, I have tried different techniques to remind the men of proper bathroom etiquette.

"Can you guys towel off in the tub before stepping onto the bath mat?" I'd suggest.

"What bath mat?" my husband chides.

"The one that's about two inches from your foot!"

Yet, all my training (and nagging) doesn't seem to work.

The biggest offender is my husband. When we decided to remodel the bathroom, he proposed a medieval decor.

"In the olden days, the lord of the manor would sit atop the wall of his castle and clear his bodily fluids into the sea," he said wistfully. "I simply want to take this ancient Irish tradition and apply it to my lavatory."

Unimpressed, I nixed the idea.

"What about an all stainless-steel bathroom with a drain in the middle of the room?" he teased. "A four-inch-thick steel door would prevent any kind of female intervention."

I ignored him. I mean, really. It requires little effort to mop up after oneself.

On several occasions, I found watered footprints, leading from the bathroom to the bedroom. The imprints left the hardwood floors discolored and water-stained.

The culprits denied any involvement.

Sometimes I find the toothpaste tube lying like a discarded piece of lumber. No one seems to care that the minty-fresh gel oozes from the open tube.

I bend down to rescue it and notice dime-sized splotches of the frothy paste bubbling on the floor.

"Excuse me," I call out. "Who was the last person to brush his teeth?"

The three men appear in the doorway.

"Wasn't me," they announce in unison.

Yet the crusted toothpaste stains on the front of their shirts say otherwise.

I am seriously considering my husband's recommendation of an all-stainless-steel bathroom.

The only other feature I would add is a spigot and a hose.

Reach Ka'ohua Lucas at Family Matters, 'Ohana section, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; fax 525-8055; or at ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com.