Look, weve all rope dropped a bathroom. Five people, one sink, a countdown clock louder than the monorails “por favor,” and a mountain of damp ponchos glaring at you from the towel rack like Force ghosts. Disney, we love you—deeply, irrationally, with MagicBand tan lines to prove it—but your hotel bathrooms are still stuck somewhere between “1971 opening day” and “why is this mirror gaslighting my...
