Glass Shower Doors and Shyness Do Not Mix (And Other Home Improvement Neuroses)
Confessions of a Pioneer Woman  |  Oct 05, 2007 06:00 AM

This used to be my shower. Even with leaks and cracks, I loved the thing. It took care of me. It was safe.
It had three enclosed walls, which I liked. And the fourth wall’s glass was frosted, textured, and opaque. Which meant I could be naked in peace.



This is my new shower. It has just two enclosed walls, not three. And recently, while deep under the spell of temporary psychosis, I took leave of my senses and selected big, whopping, clear glass shower doors. They’ll be the only thing separating me and my nakedness from the rest of the universe. I’m already biting my fingernails.



I have issues, is what I’m saying. They stem all the way back to my ballet days, when I was under the tutelage of a highly skilled but highly unforgiving-about-body-fat instructor. I endured sixteen years of ballet before I finally extricated myself from its grasp, and all I’ve got to show for it are a couple of wicked bunions and body image issues.

But fiddle-dee-dee, enough about that. That’s what Dr. Phil is for, and besides that—I’ve got a bathroom to remodel! I’ve gotten used to having fifteen different men in my house for the past six weeks and I’m learning to love construction dust. It’s great with ice cream!

Let’s check out the progress, shall we?


This was my bathroom before. It was dark, lifeless, and without hope.



This is my bathroom now. It’s bright, hip, and popular. Plastic surgery has served it well.

Another bathroom-related neurosis I have is a pathological fear of cabinet doors. Now, some citizens of this world are mature and responsible. They can have cabinet doors and still lead good, productive lives. I am not one of those citizens. If I have a cabinet door—particularly one attached to a bathroom cabinet—I will use it as an excuse to fill the cabinet with all manner of lotions, potions, waxing kits, facial tools, and cotton puffs, and I will continue filling said cabinet with more and more toiletry items until I have to shove the cabinet door closed with all my strength. Then I’ll be afraid to open the cabinet door and I’ll just go get new toiletries and start filling up another cabinet. Because of this affliction, I did not allow myself to have cabinet doors in my new bathroom.


This is my new vanity. It’s a table with four legs and the sink will simply drop down into the countertop. There will be no dark, evil cabinet underneath for me to fill with the spoils of humanity. And there will be no cabinet doors.



This is Marlboro Man’s vanity. No cabinet doors for him, either. Not that Marlboro Man has the same problem with cabinets. He doesn’t. It’s just that it would only be a matter of time before I’d fill up his cabinet with all my junk, too. And besides, I wanted us to match.



Here’s a run of cabinets to the right of my sink and directly across from Marlboro Man’s. It’s here that we’ll put our towels, washcloths, soap, and other toiletries, and there will be no cabinet doors. For the first time in my life, I’ll be forced—forced—to keep my crud in some semblance of order. If not, my sins will be on display for everyone to see. Who needs that?

Another issue I have related to the bathroom is also related to food. For as long as I can remember, any time I allow myself the pleasure of sinking my teeth into something decadent, such as a cookie, brownie, or piece of pie, I always leave the very last piece uneaten. I do. Yes. I do. And it follows no logic, either: I could eat twelve cookies in a row, and I’d leave the very last bite of every single one of them. It’s as if I believe that if I leave that last bite of the cookie, I’m not really indulging. I’m not really breaking the rules.


That psychological anomaly reared its ugly head on the issue of our bathtub. I kept our old one, despite having looked at scores and scores of newer, deeper, fancier tubs with many bells and whistles and lots of buttons and controls. I was not spending the money on a new bathtub—never mind the fact that I’d just decided on new floors, a new shower, new cabinets, new sinks, new faucets, a new toilet, and new paint—at least I didn’t go overboard and get a brand new bathtub, right? I tell you, I’m the epitome of frugality and restraint.

My final Bathroom Remodel Neurosis of the day is indecision. I’ve got it bad, especially when it comes to color choices. I successfully avoided facing the music when it came to choosing the color of the walls; I said, simply, “Pure White” and we were done.


But I’m really hurting here, my friends. I’ve decided I just can’t bring myself to slop a thick coat of white paint on the cabinetry, no matter how much I want to escape the decision-making process. Plus, with the white walls and the nudity-revealing white shower, I think the cabinetry needs something different to set it apart.



So I beg you: allow me to hang onto my indecision here, at least ‘til I’m 39. From left to right, 1 to 4, make my decision for me. Please?

I’ll let you come over and take a bath in my new (old) bathtub.