The Tale of Peggy and the Potty

First of all, some housekeeping: I’m going to be gone this weekend at a wedding and will not be blogging because there is no internet where I will be. How exciting! But I will be instagramming the crap out of this weekend because it’s my cousin’s wedding and I’m so excited for him! Who knows – maybe I’ll live-tweet the ceremony. You can only hope, right? But if you’re not already following me through other avenues, hup to it, kittens! (The links are those pretty buttons on the right that Amy taught me to code. Thank you, Amy. Everyone else say, “Thank you, Amy.” And then go check out her blog.)

Second, The Nested Blog “Really Friggin’ Sophisticated” Followship Giveaway – Part 1 is still going on and will remain open until Sunday at midnight. Go register for some swag! (You can do some of the entries every day! Tweet me, my little tweeting birds!)

And now for the actual post…..

 I work at a university. This means a couple of things.

  1.    Everyone I work with is basically a caffeine-riddled, pre-adolescent gibbon. Or at least that’s how we all act.
  2.  You never know who you’ll encounter in the bathroom.
http://www.clker.com/clipart-ladies-room1.html

Yea, kids. It’s been a while since I’ve done a potty post. Believe me, I’m as relieved as you are because it means that no kid has tried to watch me pee and I haven’t been attacked by a chicken in her outhouse/coop.

Winning.

But all good things come to an end.

Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, I don’t know. You can tell me at the end of the post. Although, even if you do think I’m being dramatic, I’ll probably just shriek “Poppycock!” and tell you that you are clearly mistaken. And then I’ll have some melon. Because I can. Because it’s cantaloupe season, kittens! (Picture me saying that like Oprah: “It’s cantaloupe seasooooooooooooooooooooooooooon!” Only I won’t be giving you free cantaloupes. Mostly because I’m poor. But also because I’m keeping them for myself.)

(Note to Bev: Yes, I’ve had a lot of coffee.)

You should probably know a few things about me and my bathroom habits. (Calm down, y’all – they’re super G-rated. …unlike literally almost everything else on this blog.)

1.       I always “diaper” the toilet seat. For those of you who don’t do this/didn’t go to Catholic elementary school where you were taught that if you don’t use a “guard” on public toilets that you will definitely get herpes and pregnant and die, this means that you wipe off the toilet seat with toilet paper and then lay strips of TP down to completely cover the seat. Yes, I am a little bit of an alarmist. No, Carter, you cannot divorce me.

2.      I have this “thing” about flushing an unflushed toilet. And by “thing,” I mean that I can’t do it. If there are 4 stalls in a bathroom and only one of them is open but that one stall was clearly used immediately prior by a literal rhinoceros who doesn’t understand bathroom etiquette (or aim, for that matter), I will wait for an open stall. I have been in the OR to witness a cat be spayed, I used to watch the Surgery Channel, and I once removed a half-inch splinter from underneath my own thumbnail, but I cannot flush another’s business. I have boundaries. Not many, I’ll grant you, but I have them. (And now’s the part where all of my mom bloggers literally die from laughing. And yea, I know that when I have kids, I’m gonna have to get a lot more comfortable with poop. I get it. But not yet, ladies. Not yet.)

3.       If I am in a bar, truck stop, gas station, rest stop, or other high-traffic loo, I will ALWAYS “hover.” Probably because of the whole Catholic education thing. 

4.       I like to pretend that I am the only human alive on the planet when in public bathrooms. This means that I don’t like to be spoken to or even acknowledged, unless it is to be asked if I am in line or to notify me that the farthest left stall is out of toilet paper. I always carry “personal wipes” because I am neurotic   am kind of an alarmist   was a Girl Scout for pete’s sake, but the no TP is still important intel because then I have to make the decision about whether I’m going to wait for another stall, thereby pissing off EVERYONE in line behind me, or hover.

And yes, in answer to your question, “Anxious much?” I can say, “Where the hell have you been/do you read this blog at all/did you not hear what the nuns always said about toilet seat pregnancy?”

(Note: It seems important to note – and I’m not sure why, but this is my blog after all, so you’re going to humor me – that I don’t mind “hovering.” I’m not THAT much of a weirdo. But I do try to convince myself that it’s a fitness activity. As in, “Ok, I know this bathroom is super nasty and that girl kind of just threw up on your shoe from the stall next door, but just think of the hamstring workout you’re getting right now.”)

This all brings me to this morning’s bathroom adventure. Remember when I said that when you work at a university, you never know who you’ll encounter in the bathroom? Yea…..

There I was, minding my own business, having just completed the toilet diapering (also called toilet mummifying). In walks a woman who slams her stall door, sits down with a loud huff (NO PREPARATION AT ALL), and exclaims loudly, “Darlin’, I just love those shoes you’ve got on!”

ME: Thank you.

LADY: My sister has a pair just like them and she says they’re crazy comfortable. Are they comfortable? Because my sister is sometimes full of it.

ME: No, they’re comfortable.

LADY: Where’d you get them? I think I’d like to get a pair!

ME: Zappos. The website. They were on sale.

LADY: Fantastic. I love Zappos. My husband says I keep them in business, but what does he know?

ME:  Uh-huh.

LADY: The weather sure is looking dicey right now, isn’t it? Tornadoes later, they’re saying.

ME: I heard that. (All the while thinking, “Please stop talking to me. I can’t pee when a stranger is talking to me because my brain won’t let me. I had a huge cup of coffee today!”)
LADY: Whew. I really had to go. You ok in there?

ME: I’m fine.

LADY: Good. Well, I’m Peggy.

ME: Um….I’m Katie.

LADY: Well you have yourself a lovely day, Miss Katie. Stay out of that weather. It’s been nice having this potty party with you.

Yea, you read that right – Potty Party.

I know – you don’t have to tell me – I’m the problem here. She was a delightful woman and very friendly and if I’d encountered her on the street, I probably would have appreciated all of that cheer and enthusiasm. I’mthe neurotic weirdo who can’t pee when I think people are listening to me pee.

But she did say “Potty Party.”

I’m still not over it. In fact, in order to avoid another encounter today, I plan to go all the way to the other side of the building to the single-serve ladies room so that I can “potty” in peace.

I know, I know, I’m weird. But hey, at least it’s not meth, right?

I’d love to hear of any weird “potty parties” you’ve had in your lifetime. Come on, y’all – make me feel less alone in my neuroses. I’ll blog a picture of me eating cantaloupe as a reward. Although that may actually be more taunt than reward because I won’t even share it with Carter. But again, melon is better than meth.

…unless you put meth in/on your melon… because I clearly have no idea how one “does” meth. 
Happy Thursday, y’all!

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Comments:

  1. *giggle snort* There is no Potty Party like the Party that takes place outside of the Port-A-Pots on Saturday night at 10 PM at the Indianapolis Irish Fest!
    It begins Friday. And they serve Jameson on tap. (Yes, you read that right…Irish Whiskey ON TAP!!!)
    They put up 8 foot privacy barriors all around the park, so what happens at Irish Fest stays at Irish Fest, which is good because you won’t be able to remember it the next day anyway.
    By 10 PM on Saturday, the poor potties have endured more games of Hit-or-Miss than anyone wants to think about. (Like hovering, only with a drunke wobble thrown in.) It’s bad enough that all the women were waiting for the handicapped stall because they had hover-assist rails.
    Yeah…good times!

  2. I work at a hospital. I was in the locker room getting ready for work, talking with a fellow employee. In the middle of our conversation, she walks into a stall, starts pooping, and continues our conversation like nothing is happening. I’m standing at the mirror gagging, while she is chatting away smelling up the place. And she was LOUD! Ugh, it was so gross.

  3. I share your potty phobias. I will hover in any place that is not my own bathroom and I will hold it until I burst rather than using a truck stop bathroom or a port-a-potty. Oooh! So gross! My biggest problem, and this seems to happen a lot, is when someone in the stall next to me is talking on their cell phone. Hello! Please hang up the phone so that I can relieve myself, thanks!

  4. Aww Peggy was a sweetheart. 😉 I do all of the above (EVEN the cannot flush someone else’s crap rule) besides the talking bulletin. I’m really okay with being talked to. It’s almost kind of fun in a silly way. But not if someone is loudly (when i say #3, you know right?) or if it’s horribly smelly in there. Then it’s like every man for themselves and I hurry! hahahah

  5. LOL! Aww, she just wanted to be friends with you!

  6. one of my kids once climbed under the stall wall and invaded some poor woman’s priviate potty time. i had to reach under and haul her out by her sneaker.

  7. Once when I was in a carpet store in Morocco (this sounds like a great beginning to a short story…or blog series! Anyway…) I had to pee like nobody’s business and the only potty they had was a drain in the floor and the “potty” was basically a closet with a curtain for a door. (which, now the curtain wouldn’t bother me so much, it’s better than no door at all) but this was pre-children and I was terrified some Moroccan man would come in while I’m crouched over a drain with my skirt up around my waist and trying to pee. I logged the fasted pee-time ever. Ah, good memories.

  8. There ain’t no party like Peggy’s Potty Party. Hey. Ho. (That was for free. And you’re welcome.)

    Anna, I had similar experiences in the south of France. I know, poor me. I had to pee standing up IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. That said, I’m a small woman and those footholds were made for average-sized men. Took some strong hamstrings for that feat. Plus, I was at a wedding in a full-length dress and heels. Poor me, in the SOUTH OF FRANCE.

    As someone with Crohn’s Disease, I believe I could fill an entire book with potty stories. Maybe I will. You’d buy it, right? I’ve been stuck on the Eifel Tower with severe cramps as a child while my mom hunted for francs to pay the attendant. Bathroom attendants, what a weird job. Like Bev and Anna, I have a lot of stories about my son in the ladies’ room, most of which revolve around him telling me how big his poop is and what it looks like (“a Christmas tree,” “a train,” “the state of Missouri” — okay, made that last one up.). And once at Derby, my husband peed next to Robert Duvall and got Duvall splash-back on his shoe. Momentous.

  9. I am totally THE SAME! I hate it when people talk to me in the bathroom. Especially strangers. And I absolutely cannot flush a toilet that has someone else’s mess in it. I just can’t do it.

  10. I can’t flush the used toilet either, but mostly because I’m positive that the reason it isn’t flushed is that it isn’t working, and if I press the handle it will cause the toilet’s contents to *fly up in the air* and coat me, and then I will have to kill myself because even a Silkwood shower will not allow to feel clean again. Like, EVER again in life.

    But I’m cool with chatting with my stall-mates; for a while, in my circle of girlfriends, it was hip to leave the stall door open for easier conversing. Note: We were young. Note 2: This was just for peeing. Note 3: Possibly it’s relevant that this all happened in California. We’re melllooowwww.

    • Oooooo, excellent point! And I think that that is the root of my fears. I will be a terribly tentative mother when it comes to diaper changing. My friend’s kid has projectile poos. And I really wish I was kidding.

      I bet you would be a delightful stall mate. I have gone into “single-serve” bathrooms with gal-pals before, no stall door whatsoever and it’s not awkward at all. Mostly because when you’ve peed in front of the KGB, you can pee in front of anyone. But there’s something about strangers and stall doors that makes me anxious. I dunno!

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