Because We Share a Bathroom

I can't say with any conviction that I have no privacy. True, most of my time is accounted for; it's spent at work. I sleep a great deal. I eat breakfast and dinner and sometimes even lunch with Pete. If I linger at Waitrose just a little longer than expected I'll get a nervous call on my mobile. It's cool though. This is the sacrifice you make to avoid all that anxiety over dying alone. The trade off is that for about 2 years after initial cohabitation begins, your every personal habit is monitored and critiqued if necessary.

For example, I thought the average life of a toothbrush was 2 weeks until Pete explained that my toothbrush looks like an heirloom toilet brush almost immediately after its first use because I chew on it. Hmmmm.

Also, there is one towel in the kitchen for dishes (this is called the dishtowel) and one for hands (hand towel, obviously). If you inadvertently mix the two up God himself will swoop down from the heavens and slap you across your silly face. Because the transfer of microorganisms from hand towel to dishes is unholy and vice versa.