Ah, yes. The word vent.
To me, not a choice word to open up the flood gates of emotion but a strange opening for which to vet the odors from the 'Loo.
In all my growing up years our homes bathrooms were without a vent. I was never worried about steam vapor fogging up the mirrors or other vapors polluting the air because there was noting to be done about such things. We were a vent-less family. I was unaware that such a thing even existed. Really.
My first meeting with the vent was when I went to meet my fiance's family for the first time.
It just happened to be Thanksgiving weekend and all the family was gathered to celebrate. As was fitting, I was schooled in vent etiquette. I was shown the inner most workings of the vent. I was shown the switch and told to use it, lest all the world should suffer.
Being a very shy and unassuming girl, I made my way into the facilities of my soon to be in-laws home.
Having not actually had the opportunity to flip the switch, I was shocked and slightly amazed at the sound that began to rumble from the small box embedded in the ceiling. At first it began a slow warm up, just a soft rumbley jangle. I had business to attend to so, I thought nothing of it and sat down. At which point the vent began its joyful chorus.
Mortification. Sheer and utter, mortification. And, it gets better...
Upon finishing my, ahem, business, I quickly made my way out of the bathroom only to run smack dab into every male member of my fiance's family. They had heard the ruckus and come to 'check it out'. They were all planted in front of the door, WITH SNACKS!!! like I was the Sunday matinee. Each one congratulating me on a great performance and giving me a pat on the back.
I stammered, red faced, that the noises weren't ME! 'Right, right! Sure.' They all agreed.
'It was the vent. I tell you!' I threw back at the mob. 'The VENT!'
To this very day, I have never lived in a house with a bathroom vent.