A fun, playful modern fairy tale reinterpretation exploring the oft-ignored father in the Cinderella story and how he might have felt suddenly living with so many ladyfolk!

For Want of a Bathroom

The sun filtering in through dusty blinds confirms what the dogs next door were already telling the entire neighborhood: the day is officially beginning. Ugh! Every morning with those dogs and their barking.  From beneath my heavy wooden desk, Max looks up at me with wide-eyed disapproval.

“I know – They’re not good boys like you, are they?”

Sighing, I gently place my lukewarm cup of coffee on the wooden desk, trying to savor my last precious moments of calm before the storm. Soon, the house will erupt with clamor and clatter and racket as the girls spill down the stairs, each vying for attention, and, of course, highly coveted bathroom time.

If I hear just one more complaint about somebody stealing somebody else’s makeup or using up all the hot water, – I swear I’m going to shower first, then purposefully let the hot water run down the drain. The make-up can all go in the trash. They don’t need it anyway.

With a grimace, I close my eyes and massage my temples. One bathroom was plenty when it was just the two of us! I should have considered more closely the practicalities of adding three additional females to the family. There are bras everywhere! Each time I turn around, there’s another bra! It’s as if they’re multiplying! Just how many bras does a girl even need!?

Well, an adjustment period is natural for all of us, I suppose. But this house is simply overflowing with femininity.

Remembering the events of last night, my somber frown turns to a grin, and an appreciative snort. It really wasn’t funny, but the looks on my stepdaughters’ faces when Ella bluntly informed them of the purpose of a plunger – I tried to keep a straight face – I really did!

I guess today will include plunging lessons for Payton and Sloane. We should probably all sit down together to discuss bathroom-related chores and scheduling. I wonder if a chore chart would help? We probably still have those gold star stickers stuck in a drawer somewhere. But how to divvy up the responsibilities and duties? I can already hear the whines of “It’s not faaaaaaair!” sung in ringing discordance.

Even my beautiful new wife is not immune from the discontent – every morning, she laments not only the lack of an ‘appropriate’ master bathroom, but also the lack of space in our closet for her expensive designer clothes and her ever-expanding shoe collection. Every time I pull her into me, nuzzling her neck with, “Vivvy – you don’t need all that – you’re beautiful to me whatever you wear!” she just laughs and pushes me away “It’s Vivienne – you know I hate that silly nickname!”

This modest home is full to bursting! But today I’ve a surprise for my girls. All my girls. Each so precious and special in such different ways. I’ve been hard at work planning some additions to the house, and today is the day construction begins. I can’t wait to see their faces! Maybe today will be the first day of no bickering, no snark, and no eye-rolling! Okay that’s probably not that realistic. They are teenage girls. Honestly, even half the current amount of drama would be a miracle.

Expanding the second floor over the garage will not only allow for the addition of a private bathroom and larger closets in the master bedroom, but also – not one, but TWO extra bathrooms! Sure, one will be little more than the size of a closet, but each of my girls shall have a bathroom of her own!

I hear an increase in grumblings and irritable stomping from upstairs, and I gently roll up the blueprints, and prepare myself for the looming hurricane that is living with four women.

At my feet, Max perks up his ears at the crescendo of bickering voices that tumble and bounce down the stairs.

“At least you’re on my side, right buddy?” I ask, scratching his ears affectionately. “We fellas have to stick together.”

As the footsteps cascade into a thunder, and the tempest approaches, Max eyes me dubiously. With a stretch, and twitch of his tale, he scampers toward the door, and I am left alone to face the squall.