Every so often, I do something odd that reminds me of my vestigal New Brunswick habits. Like just now. I walked into the bathroom, emptied my coffee into the sink and rinsed out my mug.

Normal people use the kitchen for such activities.

When we lived in New Brunswick, we didn’t have a kitchen. We had a bathroom, complete with sink and shower stall. (No tub, though.) To wash anything, we either had to use the bathroom sink or go upstairs to the main part of the house and use the landlady’s sink. She smoked like a tilt, so we typically stayed downstairs if possible.

Last night, John and I dropped over to friends’ house and saw their newly renovated kitchen, which does not, as of yet, have a sink. They’ve been living out of the bathroom.

That must have been the catalyst.

I’m obviously not sufficiently retrained.