Medicine Ball

I had my first medicine-cabinet-away-from-home during my senior year of college. Even with only one de-facto bathroom to five bedrooms (the house's spare half bath gradually became the exclusive domain of the bulimic housemate who would disappear into it for lengthy periods of time), our situation was a major upgrade from the coed dorm bathrooms of the previous three years. Until then, afraid of having my personal hygiene implements misappropriated from the communal cubbies and used to shave someone else's dubiously-clean balls, I had carried them with me to and from the bathroom in a small plastic basket every time I wanted to use them, which was constantly.

The following year brought with it an embarrassment of riches--my own apartment, and, almost as good, my own huge, half-wall, three-paneled medicine cabinet with mirrors that could be angled so that one could scrutinize one's French twist! I wasted no time in filling it with every conceivable bottle and jar and bar and potion and gel. When phone conversations grew lengthy, I would often take the phone in the bathroom with me and chat as I repeatedly opened and closed the cabinets, admiring my stock of products and taking in every square centimeter of space with awe.

I soon moved into a nicer, better apartment. The stove burners were terrific, which was wonderful news for my budding culinary skills. The one drawback, though, was reduced medicine cabinet space. Fortunately, there were shelves right outside the bathroom that fulfilled almost the same purpose, so my awesome product collection traveled with me, intact. A small hand-held mirror served as a fine French-twist-scrutinizing supplement.

Then, the oldest story in the universe re-enacted itself for the trillionth time. You know--girl meets boy, girl marries boy, girl and boy move in together, and girl loses still more medicine cabinet space. This time, I had to pare down and get creative. Infrequently-used products were banished to shelves near the kitchen. My tallest bottles found a new home concealed in the built-in wall hamper, ingeniously, I thought.

Now, with two little boys, my days of having my own even-modest medicine cabinet are numbered. It's only a matter of time before lipsticks and luxe eye creams get shoved aside to make room for economy-sized Band-Aids, bubblegum-flavored toddler toothpaste, and foaming, brightly-colored hand soap in a dispenser shaped like a hippopotamus.

So, I'm starting my own meme. You know what you always want to do at parties? Well, below is a photograph of the interior of my medicine cabinet exactly as it appears this morning, August 15, 2007. I challenge you to post a photo of your own. No cheating--no moving aside the Monistat, no hiding the nipple cream. Just a photo of your toiletries, cosmetics, etc., in all their stark, beautiful nakedness.

Questions? Post them in the comments.