The guys are using my bathroom. Up until now, the French Country thing I've got going on in there has been an effective repellent, but they seem to have developed a resistance to it. This is not good.
It was little things at first; they'd sneak in to use the mirror when the other bathroom was occupied. Fast, furtive little forays I could live with. Then it was the quick pee -- and they did not aim. Now they're parking their keesters and taking showers in there. They're leaving motor oil on the cream-colored towels and leaving the towels on the floor. There are whiskers in the sink. This means war. I hope I don't have to go all the way to froufrou. But I've got lace, and I'm not afraid to use it.
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