My God here we go again. Me and my friggin bathroom issues. Once again, I waited a little too long and ended up with a potential dribbly crisis on my hands and ended up doing that shuffle/run for the potty before it became far far too late and I raced down the hall, button hooked around the filing cabinet, thanked God I had on comfy slides instead of ankle breaking heels and roared into the ladies room, made a bee line for the BIG stall, hit the stall door full speed with a perfect straight arm and as did so, what sight should meet my poor, abused eyes but a lady of about 80 or so, perched on the toilet, EVERYthing down around her ankles, and getting ready to . . . well . . . you know . . . clean up. She hadn’t shut and latched the stall door. It was hanging open several inches when I came blazing in, in far too big a hurry to tap politely and whisper "Anybody there?" I shrieked, skidded a little, spun on my heel, and ran for it, apologizing and babbling the entire time. Dodged into the next stall where I plopped down on the can and put my face in my hands. Then she forfuckssake wants to start a conversation with me. I’m so mortified I can’t even speak and she wants to talk about the time she went into the men’s room by mistake and thought that they had changed over the toilets into “them there funny lookin’ things on the wall that the men use.”
I would very very much like to just start this WHOLE day over please. Oh my eyes. Oh my heart. Oh my God.
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