The Bathroom Door With Anxiety Disorder

Nervous Nellie, the bathroom door on our caravan is scared of dirt roads.

“How” you say “would you know that? It’s a door for God’s sake.” Well, at the mere mention that we’ll be travelling on an unmade road, it trembles and quakes and jumps off it’s guide rails. When we travel on a dirt road for no matter how short a distance, it does the full banana. Slips its lock and jumps off its guide rails then wedges itself between the wall and the toilet at such an angle that we can’t get into the bathroom.

No matter how hard we try, jamming the lock, wrapping it in towels, it still manages to quiver itself to near death. And now it’s influencing the drawer, where we keep our medicines. After we went down the Carnarvon Gorge Road in Queensland we had to jemmy our way into the bathroom. Where we found that the drawer had taken a dive, gouged a chunk out of the toilet lid and scattered more drugs on the bathroom floor than you’d find on Melbourne’s King Street on a Saturday night. Well we are Baby Boomers, daring to stay young with the aid of drugs.

Nervous Nellie has one other foible. On wintry mornings, when I get out of the shower cold and dripping and groping for the towel, it locks itself out of the slide rail and refuses to be slid open. How does that leave me? Cold, naked and on my knees shoving the bloody thing and cursing loudly. While Woody quietly munches his cereal on the other side of the door, enjoying one of the few advantages that deafness provides.


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