I (27F) came home from work today, tired and ready for a quick shower. My boyfriend (29M) and I have been living together for over two years, and generally, our dynamic is pretty comfortable. We share chores, food, and space without much friction. We’ve grown used to each other’s habits, quirks, and moods—but there are boundaries we still respect, like personal bathroom time. Neither of us has ever felt comfortable using the toilet in front of the other. It’s one of those mutual “no-go” zones.
So I walked into our small, chilly bathroom, turned on the warm water, and began washing my hair. I was mid-shampoo, running my fingers through sudsy hair, when he walked in.
“I’m sorry, but you need to get out right now; I have to GO,” he said, urgency in his voice.
I blinked, shampoo running down my face, and tried to process what was happening. “Seriously, no,” I said. “I’ll just pull the curtain closed, and you can do your thing.”
He shot back immediately: “Are you kidding?! You have to get out!”
I froze, shampoo in my hair, still dripping. “Wait… are you actually asking me to leave the shower right now?”
“Yes!” he said, almost panicked. “I can’t wait. I have IBS.”
Ah. Okay. That explained the urgency, but it didn’t make it any less ridiculous. We’ve been living together for two years. We’ve navigated shared bathrooms, late-night hair washes, and even occasional early-morning conflicts over the sink. But I had never been kicked out of the shower mid-shampoo because he needed to… go.
For context, our apartment is somewhere freezing in the winter. It’s heated by a wood stove that takes a while to warm up the space. I hadn’t started the fire yet, so stepping out meant standing in near-freezing air, wet, cold, and with shampoo still in my hair.
So, there I was, dripping, freezing, shampoo still in my hair, shivering in the bathroom doorway while he did his business. I tried to be patient, telling myself, “IBS is painful. Urgency is real. It’s fine, it’s fine.”
But part of me also thought, This is ridiculous. I mean, it’s a shower. A curtain separates us. There’s a toilet right behind the door, yes, but the curtain? It exists for privacy. Surely, we could’ve negotiated a “curtain closed, just go quick” solution.
Once he finished, I went back in, rinsed off, and started heating up the room with the wood stove. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I mean, it’s not like anyone got hurt. But still—kicking someone out mid-shower? That felt a little over-the-top.
Later, I brought it up over dinner. “Do you really need me to leave mid-shower? Can’t I just… you know… close the curtain?”
He looked at me, eyes wide, as though I’d suggested standing naked in the cold outside while a meteor struck the house. “No! You don’t get it. I can’t control it. It’s urgent. I can’t wait. I can’t… I can’t think about it, I just have to go now.”
I understood that IBS can be serious. I’ve seen him double over in pain and rush to the bathroom before. It’s uncomfortable, unpredictable, and extremely urgent. But part of me still felt that asking someone to step out mid-shower was… a little absurd.
I’ve talked to friends about it, and reactions are mixed. Some say, “It’s an emergency; of course he gets priority.” Others say, “You were mid-shampoo! That’s harsh. There has to be some compromise.” One friend joked, “You should start keeping a timer: every time he feels the urge, you get a warning alarm.”
We haven’t really argued over it—it’s just a weird moment we’ll probably laugh about later—but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s one thing to negotiate morning routines, shower schedules, and bathroom turns. It’s another to literally pause someone mid-shampoo because your IBS is urgent.
On the other hand, I try to remind myself that this isn’t about power or control. IBS is painful. It’s urgent. There’s no time to negotiate. And we’ve both agreed in the past that bodily needs take priority when they’re serious.
Still… I couldn’t help thinking about the practicalities. There’s the freezing air. The wood stove takes ten minutes to heat the bathroom. Standing there wet and cold was uncomfortable, to say the least. And honestly, it felt a little embarrassing. I had to explain to myself that it’s not him, it’s the urgency. But the absurdity of being evicted mid-shower for bodily functions was hard to shake.
Later that night, I spoke to him gently. “I get that IBS is urgent. I really do. But next time, is there any way we could… you know… give me a little warning? Maybe I can rinse my hair or step out for a moment before you… go?”
He thought about it. “I don’t know… sometimes it’s instant. I can’t always predict it. I’ll try, but I can’t promise.”
I smiled weakly. “Fair. Just… maybe sometimes a warning?”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “You’re right. I’ll try. I don’t want to ruin your shower.”
So, we’ve reached a compromise: I rinse off first if possible, and he tries to give a warning when he can. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.
At the end of the day, I can laugh about it. It’s a weird moment in our relationship, a story to tell friends. It’s not catastrophic, but it does raise the question: is it ridiculous to ask your partner to leave mid-shower so you can go to the bathroom?
Honestly, it’s a mix. On one hand, bodily needs are non-negotiable. On the other hand, mid-shampoo eviction feels absurd, especially when a curtain separates us. It’s one of those moments that’s both serious and ridiculous at the same time.