The contemplating was a direct result of reading in the afore mentioned powder room. And reading the label of a Tresseme bottle to be exact. I will admit it, I am a chronic toilet reader. I have calouses on my bum in the shape of a seat, and have been known to finish entire sections of books while seated on the throne. In fact the issue is so ingrained in my habits the lavatory as lovingly referred to as "The Library". And Melissa knows the very place I refer to when I call it such.
My normal fare for bathroom perusal would be a book (think George Castanza from Seinfeld), a Griotts Garage catalogue, the Holiday Harley-Davidson guide, or Readers Digest. In situ, I will read anything at hand, and that most often falls to reading bottles.
Ammonium xylenesulfonate, cocamidopropyl betaine, for best results lather and rinse, finished product not tested in animals. Reading fare is generally sparse in bathrooms that are not my own, and I have to get creative. I look in the tub. I look under the sink. I open the cabinets and see what is there. There is all sorts of stuff.
People of the 19th century believed that actions aided the digestion. A fellow in days gone by might have been overheard saying "I stroll at night while smoking a pipe to aid the digestion." Or "I do lunges after liverwurst and a single-malt whiskey to aid the digestion". Those fellows might have been on to something. "I read shampoo bottles and toilet bowl cleaner labels to aid the digestion."
The reasons why? Compulsion to read. Pavlovian conditioning. A father who did the same while I was young and malleable. Tonight the reason eludes me. Yet for some reason I needed to share.