My bathroom sink has always been the slow drain, while my kitchen one has always been lickety split. I wondered why this was. I mean, everyone uses their bathroom sinks to do more each day than they do their kitchen sinks. You can go a week without doing the dishes or even cooking, but I don't think many of us can get away with not brushing our teeth or playing with our faces in a variety of ablutions. But I don't think it's the use that causes this but the contents.

Food may clog a sink, if you don't pay attention. But it seems that hair will always last longer. You could probably open your pipes right now and, even thought they aren't backing up yet, you would find hair nettled with bits of soap and who-knows-what. Hair has this amazing ability to hang around for weeks and weeks and it only gains this power for longevity after it's fallen out of your head or, in the case of most females, been plucked from your eyebrows, shaved from your legs and underarms or waxed from the nether regions. Your bathroom sink and bathtub drain pay the price.

To me, it makes sense that the by-products of human will outlive and out-withstand the byproducts of nature. That will, I think, forever be a problem.

Growing up in the house I now live in, absent family, there is a built in comfort and attachment to these items. To understand the sinks, it is perhaps useful to know the environment in near orbit for each.

Walls a dusty faded baby blue running to a water stained ceiling from the upstairs neighbors, bathed under a bare 100 watts. Scratch notched white squared linoleum running far under the black claw feet of the bathtub. Each appliance is within a few feet of the small central area, and though close, it does not feel claustrophobic. Under the large nine paned window, bolted to the wall with the bare drain and feed pipes exposed beneath until they plumb into the baby blue themselves, the sink is the first thing visible entering the door. The design is antiquated and elegant as expected in an old house. Porcelain smooth white except in the areas where decades dripping have exposed worn yellow grit, exterior a flat black with simple hand painted flowers. Seperate temperature faucets, cold is turned off at the source regarding a drip and my reluctance to bother the landlord. A small soap dish is perched above the overflow drain, the sink must be cleaned constantly, it acquires filth rapidly. Brushing teeth and washing hands, sometimes with paint thinner, are familiarities which wash this drain.

Located in the pantry instead of the kitchen, surrounded by block printed walls and cupboards over and under counters. A cramped room crammed with far too much functionality, though nice for cooking when everything is within arms reach without moving. The formica white terminates flush with the sink at the end of the room near a narrow and tall window. Twice wide and five inches shallow, a curious sink. Crack stained bottom slightly slanting down to a partially clogged drain, not slow enough to cause trouble. Extended from the large porcelain backplate which runs one foot up the wall, outreaching fixtures connect in the center to release water. With once replaced washers a few years ago, there is no longer a drip to pierce sleep at night. Absent a screen over the spout to temper the spray, washing dishes will often result in a water splashed shirt. I do not mind.

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