It’s astonishing to think there’s so much to say about one house.  And yet, there are more.  The showers, for example had to have been built for 18^th century humans – small in width, tiny in stature.  My presumption is that they were intended for people half our size.  Which, now that I write it, I realize that they are intended for a typical Irish person, which is often much smaller than the typical American sized person.  While my family is not overweight people, we are tall.  These showers didn’t accommodate tall.  If you made the mistake of dropping the soap, then the rest of your shower was soap-less.  Bending over to pick up the soap was not an option, unless you were a contortionist in a former life.  The shower was about two feet by two feet in diameter.   Should you have that catastrophic moment of dropping the soap and were clever enough, you could pop up on your toes and slowly shimmy your way down a wall to slide down and pick up the soap through shower-floor-brail.

The force (and I’m using that word sarcastically) of the water coming out of the showerhead was that of a slightly drippy faucet that needs to be fixed.  Getting shampoo out of your hair left your arms achy from holding them above your head for ten solid minutes of scrubbing and rubbing.

Oh, and to cap off the unpleasant shower experience, towel racks seem to be a purely American invention, since the closest place to hang a towel was the other side of the room.  Thus, the completion of your shower means a trek across a slippery cold tile floor to the opposite end of the room to your towel.  You could alternatively place the towel outside the shower, but it invariably would get soaked as the shower also would leak.   I yearned for a sizable shower, with a pulsating shower head with a convenient towel rack! #Firstworldproblems.