Our bathroom mirror will never have cavities. 

But the sink could use a closer shave, and the countertops should certainly cut back on the cologne. 

I shared what I thought were these extremely creative and very humorous observations with my wife after a recent morning grooming left much of my toiletries way beyond the boundaries of my body. 

I was reaching for a joke to break the tension. Bonnie reached for her blow dryer in an effort to break something more than the tension. Could I blame her? Well, I could, but I knew the reality. It seems the more effort I put into leaving myself less of a mess in the morning, the more of a mess I leave the bathroom in the morning. 

Every time I moisturize and deodorize, lubricate, hydrate, and exfoliate, brush, floss, and gargle, I inevitably provide the person who follows me into the bathroom with a pretty disgusting reminder that Barry was here. And here, and here. 

I've told my wife on many, many, many occasions, there's no malice behind the mess. It's not intentional. I certainly don't have the intellect to create such a scheme. Sadly, nor do I have the common sense to figure out how to groom myself without leaving the grind. 

I don't think men really deserve a bathroom. Oftentimes, we don't feel the need for one. Drive along Route 17, and you'll see plenty of guys coming out of the woods who didn't see the need for a bathroom. Certainly not a nice one. We can't handle nice. Put us in one and we act like kids. 

Bonnie and I watch those house shows where a couple looks at three places and decides at the end which one they'll buy. Every time they tour a new house, as soon as they get to the bathroom, the husband always has to try out the tub. Like he's never seen a tub. Like he's ever going to use the tub anyway. But like a kid, he's got to get in. Dirty shoes and all. 

Maybe it's a Barry thing. 

I'm really hoping that it's a guy thing. I can't believe I'm the only male bathroom slob on the planet. Notice I didn't just say New York. No sense in limiting the slob scope.

Funny thing is, outside the confines of our laboratory, I consider myself a pretty kempt guy. 

I don't leave dishes around. 

I don't leave junk in my car. 

I don't go around untucked. 

Yet with seemingly little effort and surprisingly great aim. I'm capable of turning our bathroom into a canvas that displays the latest in tartar-protection art. 

Seconds after I squeeze a dab of Ultra Brite onto my Braun Oral B 3D two-speed excel power toothbrush – then flip the switch - I unleash a 40,000-pulsation-per-minute oscillating/rotating machine, with a centrifugal force that not only allows the paste to clean and strengthen each one of my 32 teeth, but also splatter anti-cavity fluoride on the front mirror, the side of our medicine cabinet, the sink, faucet, countertop, floor, and Bitsy, if she happens to be around. I've drizzled enough toothpaste on my shirt that I could floss between the buttons. 

I think guys find it difficult to function in the bathroom. We don't always understand the room. 

Like, why guests get their own towels? Why is there soap that no one can use? And what's with beach shells? It's a bathroom. That stuff throws off our balance. We lose all equilibrium. Makes the toothpaste go all over. Think I'm kidding? 

You've seen the toilet bowl. Pretty big target. And yet…