Things didn't go well for the trip to the syrup festival this year. It was one of those ill-fated adventures that turns to misadventure that turns to nothing at all.

First of all, I had forgotten plans to meet with my sister that morning. I usually don't forget things when I plan other things, but sometimes it does happen—usually when I try to plan too many things.

I did manage to remember a few days before the actual meeting was to take place, so I avoided a catastrophe by simply pushing the breakfast at the school upwards to a lunch at the school. There, all better.

I had planned on taking my mother along for the ride, but she opted later (the day before) to instead go with a niece for a jaunt around to the fine selection of spring yard sales.

Everything was still going to work until I also remembered that I was supposed to get my utility trailer on Saturday as well. But I knew I could get the trailer unloaded and in place before lunchtime and still make it to my delicious world of buckwheat pancake paradise.

Just before time to go, my other friends with whom we scheduled the trip called to say his wife was sick and couldn't make it. Then it was done to the core group again, at least until later that morning when one of the little ones came down with a fever.

Maple syrup anyone? Please? Syrup was turning out to be hard to come by. However, I do have one more hope. I plan to send a plea to the Mount Rogers Volunteer Fire Department asking for syrup. I may resort to begging. It's really good syrup, you know.

So I instead ended up spending the day at home, including trying to clean up the utility trailer I had purchased.

Since I'm still working toward the building, I figured I had better try to get some place to clean out the utility room so that it can be converted (eventually) into a second bathroom. When you are the only man in a house with more than one female, you can understand my feelings on an extra bathroom.

Women do things in the bathroom that men shouldn't try to understand or even know about. I prefer to see a woman after all the voodoo potions, scrubs, chemicals, masks, perfumes, soaps, oils, lotions, powders, creams, hair gels, tonics, shampoos, soaps and polishes have already been applied. During is not an option for me.

However, the process of doing these things can leave bathrooms tied up for hours whilst the man of the house ponders the possibility of driving to a gas station or running to the nearest out-of-the-way vegetation and hoping for the best.

Bath time isn't much better. I tend to look at such things like a job that needs to be done. Things are done in a specific order, in a specific way, all in about 15 minutes: shampoo, shave, soap, rinse, dry, done.

I don't exfoliate, apricot scrub, loofah, sponge, chemical peel, pumice or condition my hair. I don't shave any part of my body lower than my chin. I do, however, wait for others in my household to finish their hocus-pocus routine, ranging from some 30 minutes to two hours, on a regular basis. Hence the need for a second bathroom. Of course, bathrooms are great sources of controversy for those of opposite sex, since we can seldom agree on what needs to happen there and how it should happen.

For instance, the toilet seat issue. We've all heard this argument a million times. Up or down? Well, I've always figured that gravity is on the side of those who need it down, so however I need it is how I leave it. I do have the decency to raise it when applicable, but I don't feel obliged to drop it for the next potential user. Besides, who's to say that I won't be the next one there?

It's supposed to be a chivalrous thing to put it in a the downward position. Well, let me tell you sister, men have already allowed powdery puffs, smelly sprays, hair care products and perfumes and the aforementioned voodoo beauty items to clutter our utilitarian restroom space. We also live with decorative wall hangings, cute little carpets and color-coded towels and wash cloths.

Might I also mention the decorative soap dispensers, toothbrush holders and don't forget that little bucket of soap and seashells. But don't you dare pick up a bar of that stuff and wash your greasy hands! "But it's soap. That's what it's for," I complained.

It's not for hand washing, it's for decoration," came the reply. Oh yeah, and don't use the tan towel to dry off on when you get out of the shower, because it matches the wallpaper. Use the multi- colored towels in the linen closet. Those would be the ones I never remember until I already have taken my shower and stand there naked and dripping with a dilemma to solve—take the pretty towel, call for help or head to the linen closet wet and naked. With any kind of towel nearby, the male decision is obvious.

As a single fellow, I had soap in a dish on the wall, towels of whatever color I could find for free and a plain white toilet. It's all overwhelming sometimes.

I've had a new part of this toilet seat thing to deal with for a few years now in the add-on seat decorated with cartoon characters. Whomever invented these things was not of the male persuasion. It is the most impractical device for a person over the age of five that I've ever seen. The seat won't raise with it in place, it's too small to sit on and there is absolutely no good place to store it in the bathroom. And what do the little people usually do there? They gaze at picture books for some 30 minutes or so while the man of the house again runs for the gas station or the local vegetation, which has began to cringe and wither at the sound of the back door opening.

The plants and I can only hope for brighter days to come. I dream of a bathroom (which likely will include frilly things, wallpaper, decorative tile, potions, lotions and color-coded towels) and the plants dream of being free from warrantless fertilizing.

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