Holy toilet shame, Batman.

I needed to take a kitchen bag of trash to the dumpster last night and decided to fill it up with other trash in the not-too-taxing vicinity, because…laziness. I walked into the hall bath that is next to the kitchen and was immediately mortified.

The previous evening, some dear friends happened to stop by after their evening out, and Julie asked to use our bathroom. THAT is where my mind went when I saw the state of my lack of attention to regular and constant cleaning.

I live with two men who use this particular bathroom on a regular basis. I, however, rarely visit the room unless I am in need of a tissue or am in hyper cleaning mode on a random cleaning Saturday. I now know that I should NEVER assume my men have the mind or cleaning habits of June Cleaver, and as of last night, I will always assume the opposite.

Doesn’t everyone clean the mirror and erase any evidence of water drops each time they look in it? Doesn’t everyone wipe down the counters, sink, and the faucet until they shine after ALWAYS washing their hands before leaving the bathroom? Doesn’t everyone scan the bowl and both sides of the lid for unmentionable evidence of use and then ELIMINATE that evidence with the cleaning tools and products that happen to be RIGHT THERE?! Doesn’t everyone take a couple squares of toilet paper to wipe down the back of the toilet lid AFTER they close said lid?

Horrification, I tell you.

I may not be June Cleaver, but I am certainly grateful I was raised by Grace who taught me how to clean and how to be appropriately ashamed and remorseful.

I am grateful for friends who ignore the revulsion, don’t say a word, and love us anyway.

And, I am grateful for the two adorable Ward Cleavers in my house who do not realize June was an actress playing a part – I am CERTAIN Universal Pictures hired a cleaning crew.