Hannah Star Why to Never Share Bathrooms with Boys

In many ways, men are disgusting. They frequently forget to brush their teeth, and they are often very, very sweaty. They enjoy burping and farting in public, and they think that it’s okay to wear the same pair of underwear for two days in a row (or four days, if you turn the underwear inside out). But boys are definitely the grossest in the bathroom. I know this, because my university residence situation is set up in such a way that my friends and I share a conjoining bathroom with an apartment of six frat bros. Some days, upon witnessing the state of our bathroom, I simply turn around and take my business elsewhere. Other days – particularly on Saturday and Sunday mornings – I can’t help but marvel at the level of barbarism they manage to bring to our bathroom.

One thing I’ve learned is that boys don’t flush toilets. They just don’t do it. It’s as if they haven’t made that final evolutionary step in which humans decided it would be a good idea to dispose of their bodily waste. Now, I know that some people refrain from flushing for environmental reasons, but judging by the amount of toilet paper that is inevitably strewn about the bathroom floor on any given Sunday morning, there’s nobody in that apartment that’s particularly environmentally friendly. Boys, please learn where the flusher is. And while you’re at it, put the fucking seat back down.

The boys also like to play this really fun bathroom game in which, while one of them is showering, the others steal his clothes and towel from the hook beside the shower. Then they watch, smiling and laughing, as the bather makes his way back to his bedroom, totally au natural. They never seem to grow tired of this game. Boys are strange.

One time I entered the bathroom to find the entire countertop and mirrors covered in blue face paint. I never asked how it happened, and I never found out who cleaned it up.

This morning, however, had to be the worst. I entered a stall to discover that empty beer cans had somehow been balanced on the back of the toilet. Needless to say, I was also all-too-pleased to find that the toilet seat was covered in – unless someone next door has an afro that I don’t know about – pubic hair. Really, boys – how does your pubic hair just fall out like that? The only conclusion I could draw was that I was witnessing the remnants of a traditional fraternity bonding session, in which two frat brothers stand together on a toilet seat and shotgun beers while shaving each other’s pubes. No homo.

For me, going to the bathroom now means decking myself out in full raingear and a gas mask. Last I heard, there was vomit in the shower. And I think there might be a live animal living under our sink.

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