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In my bathroom there is an octagonal wooden box from Turkey given to me by my friend John. Inside this box is a scorpion encased within a glob of glass along with a scrap of paper reading “Death Valley.”

In my bathroom there is a yellow tube of Vegemite from Australia given to me by my friend Zack. A new label has been pasted on top that reads “Sewage-flavored toothpaste.”

In my bathroom there is a purple plastic octopus named Genghis given to me by my mother that dangles from the showerhead. Genghis squeaks when you squeeze his butt.

The thing about it is that of all the cavalcade of humanity that has been in and out of that bathroom in the last six months, not a single person has asked me about any of these things.
This leads me to conclude that the average Chicagoan stores far stranger things in their bathrooms than scorpions, Vegemite, or squeaky octopi.