I don’t intend for this to be a serial blog where each entry is a
continuation of the previous one. However, I felt liked I owed an
explanation of the bathroom goings-on from my first post wherein I referenced actual physical injuries. My scabby arm will surely heal but I will carry the emotional wounds with me forever.
We had just arrived at the Zoo but scrambling for a last-minute trip used everything I had in my patience-bank and I kinda sorta already wanted to choke-a-bitch ($0.25). Naturally, our first stop was the bathroom. I made them go potty before we left but that was at least thirty minutes earlier and experience has taught me that someone will need to pee as soon as we’re no where near a bathroom so I thought it best to just get’er done while we’re there.
There was no line for the restroom … just a mosh-pit of sweaty Zoo visitors all congregating around the door to the ladies room. I couldn’t tell who was waiting, who had been, and who was just hanging out. Flanked by my girls, we marched up and made our intentions known: we were there to use the facilities.
It was hot and sticky and you could swat the air. And the smell.
Whoa … the smell. Some poor recent visitor had clearly had a bad case of the scoots – or an elephant took a giant dump just outside the bathroom – and that was an extra special favor to our senses. While my girls danced around like bees on speed, I waited patiently outside this rancid swamp, dreading what waited for me inside.
SIDE NOTE: I am generally an anxious person and all kinds of things
give me the heebiejeebies but public restrooms usually put me in an all-out tailspin. END SIDE NOTE
A stall opened and it was our turn. I rounded the corner to see that the toilet paper dispenser was on the floor next to the toilet and the paper was strewn across the floor in soggy clumps. I kindly asked another toilet-goer if I could have some of her tissue and I began laying strips onto the pee-and-hair-covered seat so my little girl wouldn’t have to sit her bare bottom in someone else’s bodily fluid and pubic hair. This is more for my comfort than for hers since being terrified of sharing toilets with people who have ghastly bathroom habits is a learned behavior and, sadly, not genetic.
I told my girls to stand still and put their hands on their tummies.
“Don’t touch ANYTHING” I said. Did they listen? Of course they didn’t fucking ($0.25) listen.
Maggie has to touch everything. EVERYTHING. Sometimes with her tongue. I know this about my sweet baby girl but still I was completely stunned to see her licking the lock on the stall door.
“Maggie! Are you kidding me?!” I screamed incredulously.
Wait. Stop. Reset.
“Maggie, honey. That’s yucky. Please don’t do that.”
I rolled my eyes, gave her a little pat on the head and turned back around to continue working on my make-shift toilet seat cover while trying to minimize my dry-heaving.
Because I raised my voice to her, Maggie was reduced to a sniveling basket-case. Anna – being the darling little wench that she is – had picked up on this vulnerability and chose this moment to antagonize the crap out of Maggie. Anna began pointing at Maggie, two inches from her face.
“Mommy, Anna is pointing at me and I don’t like it” Maggie whimpered.
“Mommy, Anna is pointing at me and I don’t like it” Anna snarked.
“Maaaaaaah-meeee, Anna is copying me” Maggie moaned.
“Maaaaaaah-meeee, Anna is copying me” Anna giggled.
I whipped around and growled something threatening through my teeth. I don’t remember what it was and it honestly did not matter. I had fucking ($0.25) had it so my tone and body language did all the talking and they said “If you don’t knock it off I’m going to beat the shit ($0.25) out of both of you!”
I’m not sure what I did in a former life to deserve this level of daily hassle and bullshit ($0.25) but I wouldn’t wish what happened next on my worst enemy.
As I straddled the wet mess on the floor, I continued to carefully lay the paper on the pot. I assumed my girls were standing quietly behind me, having learned just how pissed ($0.25) mommy could get. But then something pushed me forward and as I put my hands out to brace a fall, my left hand hit the toilet seat, slipped in the pee and went into the toilet! On the way down, my arm hit two little pokey, spikey things that had obviously been used to secure the now defunct toilet paper dispenser. Those two little spikey things stabbed the bejesus out of my arm … or lightly scraped my arm. Whatevs. My arm hurt but, I’m not going to lie, I was much more concerned about my arm landing in the nasty commode.
Like Jet-fucking-Li ($0.25), I pulled my arm out of the filthy toilet and jumped up. Bleeding, wet and blazing mad, I looked back at my daughters. If I could have captioned Anna’s face, her expression would have read “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck” ($0.25). Maggie just burst into tears which just about made my head explode because I’ll be damned ($0.25) if I’m going to console her for pushing me face-first into a public toilet at the Zoo!
I hurried to the sink to wash my arms all the way up to my shoulders and tended to my wounds. I breathed deeply and counted to ten and had a gleaming moment of clarity when I realized that asking the girls what caused them to inadvertently push me would just further exasperate me. I was proud of my level of awareness during a full-fledged state of rage. I was coherent enough to know that it wouldn’t change the fact that I had toilet water on my shirt and face.
I silently moved toward a different stall and finally helped my daughters use the restroom. I did not speak to them and though they were very concerned about my boo-boos – which I did appreciate – I really just wanted them to shut-the-hell-up.
… all this just so I wouldn’t get stuck, ten minutes from now, frantically searching for a bathroom because my kids wait until the urine is flowing through their ureter to alert me that they need to go.
You know how the rest of the story goes or, if not, you can read about it here. The day ended with bourbon, a band-aid and a whole lot of antibacterial gel over every reachable part of my
Total owed to the swear jar for this post: $2.00