Our bedroom is not the master bedroom. Indeed in many houses we've lived in we've devoted the master bedroom to being instead a combined study (slash) mini-lounge (slash) robing station (1). That was the case with the last place we lived in as well.
The bedroom where we dwell is opposite the toilet. I was sitting on the end of the bed when I saw theBoy, pants around his knees, shuffling for the toilet, intending on doing a wee. Unfortunately for theBoy theDad was using it. Unfortunately for theDad he'd forgotten to lock the door.
So I got to see the delightful view of my theDad standing at the toilet in mid flow, his pants around his knees, with theBoy, also pants around his knees, standing behind him and then attempting to get to the side so he could go too. With much laughter I had to extract theBoy from the toilet so as to give theDad some peace so he could finish up.
In retrospect I probably should have joined them. That way we'd have had three generations, all with pants around the knees, standing in line for the toilet.