“Always go to the bathroom when you have a chance.” King George V
Have you ever had the magical experience of realizing that you have to go to the restroom SO BADLY that you are left with the last resorts of either: a) peeing your pants in public or b) succumbing to the unhygienic, degradation of using a Port-O-Potty at the park? If not, YOU, my friend, have led a very charmed life indeed.
Today, I just so happened to have such a dilemma. Do I self-implode, or hang my germaphobic head in shame and go to the portable toilet? Why didn’t you just go to a nearby gas station you might ask? Fantastic idea, in theory. But my friend had chosen today of all soccer parenting days to request I watch his children while he ran some errands. It seemed like an easy yes … until the reality of a copious amount of water mixed with an hour and a half practice and my walnut bladder created the perfect storm.
Eventually, quite near to the, “Oh my word I’m going to have an accident,” stage, I gathered the essentials and waddled toward the horror! Seeing me armed with my keys, phone, (in case of emergencies) a full box of kleenex, and a large hand sanitizer bottle, the kids shouted, “I thought you hated portable bathrooms.”
“Not so much a choice today,” I sing-songed back with a manic pitch of hysteria creeping in!
I was almost, slightly less-than-devastated when I approached and saw a sign that said, “Ladies,” on the box to the right. After passing the first challenge of grabbing the bacteria-ridden handle, I realized not everyone read the sign as posted, because my second challenge was to LOWER THE TOILET SEAT LID! Hello!?!?! Ladies? It said Ladies people!!!
Still, I knew that I was in no position to abandon my quest for relief. Even though there were flies, AND stink-bugs, (oh, the irony) not to mention see-through toilet paper, my personal favorite was the eight inch gap between the bottom of the door and the ground. Whether a woodland critter or peeping Tom had a hankering to get a good look inside the abominable “lavatory,” they wouldn’t need to work very hard to do so. After layering enough invisa-wrap to secure a mummy in the afterlife, I shut my eyes and hovered … hoping it would all be a proper nightmare I’d soon be rid of.
As fate would have it, I survived. And the funniest part of all? When my friend returned, he said, “I wanted to grab something for you at the store as a thank you for watching the kids while I ran out. This is all I came up with.” Right then and there he held out a brand new pack of anti-bacterial wipes. It was as if my own personal sanitation angel descended, telepathically knowing I’d need just such a gift.
So what is the moral of this little trial? I’m not sure I could say. But if you ask me now, hours later whether or not I made the right decision to go or not to go … I’d say the jury’s still out, but next time? I think I’d rather pee my pants.
I’d love to hear your best/worst stories! Share with me in the comments below!