The Face that Fills the Hole

Too Much?

I have some real restroom issues.

Problem 1: I can't go if someone is in the restroom with me. Like, I'll walk into a giant restroom and someone will walk in behind me and ends up in the stall clear down the way from me and I'll sit and not be able to go until the other person is done and gone.

Problem 2: My poop stinks dude! My family will all chime in on that one, I'm sure. I think it's all the chemicals in the food I eat.

Problem 3: This is probably related to problem #2 (Get it? #2? Hee hee!); I really hate pooping anywhere but at my home. But sometimes you can't help it.

Problem 4: Most of the time, I have to poop within half an hour of eating. I think maybe I'm trying to make room.

When I eat at Carlos O'Kelly's, I have to go like five minutes after eating. Like clockwork. My dad is well aware of this problem.

"Well, I'm full. Should we get going?"

"We might as well wait here. She'll have to dump in a few minutes."

When I went home a couple of weeks ago, Mom and Dad took us to Carlos O'Kelly's for dinner. We decided to eat fried ice cream for dessert and I realized I wasn't going to be able to wait.

So I headed off to the restroom and arrived just in time to see a father leading his little girl through the door. He waited outside as I walked in behind her. She rushed into the handicapped stall and left her door open. I stepped into the other stall and latched the door tightly.

I heard the pitter-patter of her bare feet (I know! Ew!) as she walked in and out of her stall. Eventually, she "went" and started talking. I had no idea what she was saying so I remained quiet. She flushed and headed to the sink where I listened as she got paper towel after paper towel.

Oh did I mention I wasn't pooping while this was happening? See Problem 1.

Then I heard her yell "Dad! I can't reach the sink!"

When there was no response, "Dad! I can't reach the sink!!!"

Then I heard her feet and hoped she was leaving. Instead, I saw her feet at my door. "DAD!" She yells at my stall. "I CAN'T REACH THE SINK!"

"Um. I think he's outside," I told her, trying to help as I was sitting on the pot with my jeans around my thighs.

Then Barefoot Canyella decides to see if I'm lying. I see her eyeball smashed up against the crack between the door and the wall of the stall, staring in at me.

No really. Even after I point toward the door and explain her dad isn't in here with me. Apparently she didn't believe me.

Doesn't she know the proper thing to do would have been to bend down and look at my shoes?

1 comment:

michael said...

i'm with you on this. on my honeymoon a few years back, i actually drove home from the hotel each time i had to go. an hour back home just to be comfortable. yep, that is definitely the way to go.