Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Bathroom of Doom

I confess, earlier I was working on a totally different post; one about the past and regret and such, when I realized, "WOW am I depressing the shit out of myself!" So I stopped writing before I had any urges to stick my head in the oven. And without further ado, here's a post about a crotchety old biddy who wore a bow in her hair...

The other day, I was battling traffic near our local mall when The Destroyer had to pee. You know how it is (or if you're lucky and working on your tan in Puerto Rico, you don't know how it is) when a preschooler has to pee. It's not in a minute, or when you find a nice safe haven bathroom, it's RIGHTNOW. So I pulled over at Ye Olde Crowded Gas Station.

We located the women's and tugged the handle. Locked. Thinking it was one of those that required a key, I tugged the men's door - voila! Unlocked! So it was occupied. Yep, definitely occupied - my kiddo had begun frantically pulling on the door until a raspy voice yelled "I'll be OUT in a MINUTE!" Um. Okay. So I said, "it was my three-year-old, sorry!" Then we waited.

And we waited...

And in a strange order of water running, toilet flushing, hand dryer, toilet flushing (what was she DOING in there) she finally (finally!) emerged.

A grizzled old gnome of about 1,972 years of age, if I had to ball park it. Crazy long gray hair with a red bow on top; a tiny bow, the type you might adhere to a small fussy dog that rode in a purse. She brushed past us with nary a glance and said, "I wouldn't take my CHILDREN in there, if I were YOU." The way she said it suggested letting my kids in there was the maternal equivalent of, say, having them push crack on street corners, or perhaps hide in the closet while I pursued a life of hooker-dom.

Mmmm hmmm.

Let's recap. Three year old who has to pee. Yeah, I think I'll drive around for hours, looking for the Shangrila of road side bathrooms because an octogenarian with a fiber deficiency (not to mention a slightly demented looking BOW in her hair) said so.

I'd like to tell you that in my PMS haze I let him pee all over her bow-matching shoes, but I didn't. I said, "Well we don't have a lot of options here, now do we." Then, we went forth to pee.

And the bathroom you ask? Looked like a gas station bathroom. Some grime, some dirt, some unrecognizable stains around the bowl....

Somehow, we lived to tell about it. Good thing too, so I could get them back to their street corner before I had to finish my hooker-ing for the day.

Comments, questions, where do your kids pee?

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