My husband used to come home from work with outrageous stories about odd fantasies and experiences of other people he read about from a column in
The Village Voice. I sometimes wished he would stop reading it, although some stories made our relationship better.
I used to be pissed off when I would get into the shower after him and find a tiny sliver of soap left. What happened to the common courtesy of soap replenishment from our newlywed years?
But now, as I replenish the soap myself, I smile. I am grateful I am not married to the strange man who admitted to the Village Voice that he likes to poo in the shower and squish it down the drain with his toes.