I am in my shower, the hot steamy water enveloping me. It is the most relaxing and self-indulgent time of my day. This is the place where I can think and let the water wash away my troubles. But wait, this is a false sense of serenity, because at this moment Mark is wandering around the house looking for things that use water to turn on. Anyone with an old house knows that only one person can use the water during a shower, and that is the person taking the shower.
Suddenly, as I rinse my face in the warm spray, I am hit with a cold icy slap. Mark has flushed the toilet in the other bathroom. That is the least discomfort I can experience in the shower. If Mark decides to start the laundry, I am hit with a sudden scalding spray, as if a steam pipe has burst. I scream out in pain and curse Mark, while simultaneously slapping madly at the shut off valve and trying to plaster my self against the far wall of the shower.
I don't know if Mark does it on purpose or not, but it seems that he has a Pavlovian response to me going into the shower. I always have to stop on the way in and tell him to not turn on any water for a few minutes. Yet, five minutes into the shower I'm doing the crazy dance again.
The only remedy to this situation is total re-piping of the house, and that isn't going to happen. So I just put up with it, and once in awhile, while Mark is in the shower, I go over to the kitchen sink and flip the water on. First the cold and then the hot, then I listen for the scream.