Idiosyncrasy.

Her hairs block the plug hole, her toenails are lost among the loop pile. Wads of tissue lie against the skirting like damp tumbleweeds. He forgives her for these indiscretions. Half of her brain was taken out when she was 26 and now the spinal fluid that fills the vacant left-hemisphere sloshes around so she feels the ocean lapping inside her skull. This drives her to distraction, particularly while she grooms herself. He felt he was magnanimous in his overlooking of such foibles; "most would not stand for this!" he often reminds her, as she floats about half submerged in the real imaginary world in her head.