One of the benefits of coming into the office is that I get to go the toilet on my own. I reckon in the past seven years I've had so few solo sittings at home that I wouldn't have even gone through a whole roll of toilet paper by now. I think the kids like it when you're seated, at their eye level, it's a good opportunity to talk to you and they know that if you get really cross with them you're less likely to get up and chase them through the house.
I must admit too, that I quite enjoy being able to read on the toilet, and sometimes manage to indulge in this habit at work. All in the name of research of course.
I nabbed a book from the Relax desk the other day, the Relax desk the most likely place to find appropriate material, I mean ACT Budget papers have their place, and the toilet is not it. Or maybe it is. But anyway, this book was titled Grown Up and Gorgeous in your 40s, part of a series that aged into your 50s and 60s as well, "fabulous tips and tricks for being the best you've ever been".
I'm terribly low maintenance (although my dear husband might not think so), I still have the same mascara I got for my wedding some 13 years ago, my only skin regime consists of a slap of Oil of Olay if I remember and I know I should be more concerned about flaky skin, but really there are more important things to worry about.
And it was one of those sort of books, opening with a list of "your new best friends". Apparently, now I'm in my 40s, I need to ditch my tracksuit wearing, terribly funny, and intelligent friends for an eyebrow guru, a fashion stylist and a cosmetic plastic surgeon. Not likely.
This book was serving its purpose, helping me pass and pass the time, until I got to the final chapter where one of the questions it posed was: "What would you choose to do if you had no obligations to anyone?"
I'm glad I was sitting down because this question floored me. I sat there, dumbfounded, is the only word, just thinking about the whole concept of having no obligations to anyone.
While I can't imagine not having any obligations and it's more than probable that I'll have obligations until I die, I tried to think of a few things. It was easier than I thought. Here's a list of some of the things I would do. Some of them involve having unlimited money but seeing I know that neither of these things will ever happen why constrain myself and have to answer, "well I'd probably still have to come to work to pay the rent."
1. I'd go and live in the Scottish highlands and work in a pub, pull beers for people I can't understand but would be happy to listen to for hours on end. And the men would wear kilts.
2. I'd have baths everynight, drawn right to the top, run so hot my skin would turn pink. There'd be a pile of Who magazines to read and big fluffy towels and I'd stay in until I was as wrinkly as a prune.
3. I'd drive a really small car. One of those teeny Smart cars maybe. And I'd play my music in it. Or listen to the ABC. There'd be no wrappers in the back, cause there is no back.
4. I'd wear socks to bed.
5. I'd read in bed for hours. Until I'm so sleepy I wake up and realise I've lost my place.
6. I'd cook risotto.
7. I'd spend hours on the beach reading books and not have to worry about whether the kids were drowning, or just waving.
8. I wouldn't feel guilty about staying up past midnight to watch Beauty and the Geek.
9. I'd buy my lunch and never pack another lunchbox again.
10. I'd travel extensively and write that book.
But then I got to thinking that really, if I got up off the toilet, these are all things I could be doing anyway. Well maybe not the lunchboxes. Or the socks. But obligations or no obligations what's to stop me?
And it would be terribly lonely to have no obligations to anyone, no cuddles, no sloppy kisses, no handmade cards full of declarations of undying love, and nothing from the kids either.
So perhaps I should be content to grab the occasional chance at work and sneak off for an afternoon pit stop, head home and bask in the comfort of obligation.
And buy a lock for the toilet door.