A Bathroom Conundrum Worth Discussing.

Saturday afternoon, Chris took me out on a date.

He arranged babysitting, made reservations, gave me specific instructions (put your hair up and bring your camera), and that’s all the information I got. I had no idea where we were going or what our date entailed.

I WAS surprised when I was still in the car an hour and a half later, but hey. One must go where the date takes you. And the drive was lovely – fields of flowers with cows idly grazing, baby foals being nudged along by their mothers, the occasional cluster of goats being herded by giant white dogs, Alabama mountains, and fantastic rural haunts like “Hick’s Poor Man’s Store” and “Mister Willie’s Family Restaurant”.  All of these would have made lovely photos for this post, but apparently that wasn’t on the date agenda, and anyway there weren’t exactly shoulders on this two-lane country road.

There were also lovely smells wafting into his convertible (hence my hair being up) – until we passed a pile of manure and then not-at-all-so-lovely smells.

But anyway.

We arrived at dinner in a small lakeside city a couple of hours north. The restaurant chosen was one we’d never been to, but had both heard of from prior trips to said city. It was one of those quirky, small restaurants that’s located in an old house. Do y’all have that type of restaurant outside of Alabama? I know Georgia does, because we had one of our quirkiest meals ever at The Olde Pink House.

But that’s not today’s story.

In this house restaurant, there were a couple different very small dining rooms (I think we ate in a bedroom), a cozy feel, and very winding hallways.

Since we had driven two hours to get there, I of course needed to visit the restroom immediately. It took me a minute, but I located it down a hallway that also housed a very squeezed-in-the-hallway bar. Because it was an old house, there were two choices, both individual bathrooms, one down the hall from the other. The one I went in was the bigger one – big enough that you assumed it used to have a claw-foot bathtub or some other sort of antique bathing option. The other bathroom, down the hall a bit but still in view of former-clawfoot bathroom, was clearly the old house’s pocket bathroom. It barely had room for a toilet and a sink and the leftover floor space for a very careful turnaround from the sink to the door when it was time to leave.

I headed back to our table for a lovely, lengthy meal at this tiny old house.

After our dinner of potato croquettes and filet mignon with a coffee rub and all sorts of deliciousness, it was time to go. Chris had sunset plans (hence the camera), and the meal had taken slightly longer than he had anticipated. But because I have the bladder of a 5 week old bunny, I hurried back to the bathrooms for one last visit.

When I arrived, both were occupied and there was a gentleman waiting. The bigger bathroom opened up, so he took it. Shortly thereafter, the tiny bathroom became available, so I turned sideways and squeezed in.

As I walked out of the bathroom, there were two more people waiting – older ladies – I would guess in their late 70s or early 80s, chatting as women do.

They saw me exit the restroom, and the woman that was first in line headed toward it and said,

“Hey Judy if you want, you can just come on in here with me.”

I was passing them as this offer was made, and I whipped my head around with an eyebrow raised.

Judy shook her silvery curls and quickly said, “Oh but I think it’s just a single…”

Judy’s friend interrupted. “That’s okay! You can still come in here if you don’t mind.”

I watched as Judy, clearly the non-dominant friend in this situation, sadly followed her friend into the bathroom.


I had just come out of the tiny bathroom. The one with NO room for an audience. And I understand that women like to go to the bathroom together and it’s what we do and all, but pure logic here makes the presumed assumption behind the offer make zero sense.

I had no indication at all that Judy’s friend, this delightfully blue-haired 80 year old woman, was making anything other than a helpful offer to Judy. The tone in which she invited Judy into the bathroom was obviously one of convenience. As if to say “Hey Judy to make sure you get the next bathroom available, just come on in here with me.”

Which is where I got completely and infinitely confused, as her opportunity cost and game theory and all that was seriously off base.

If Judy waits outside the bathroom, she gets two options – because maybe the guy who went into the big bathroom would get out before Judy’s friend does – in fact, it’s probable that he will. Judy’s friend has pantyhose to try to wriggle back into, after all.


But instead, because Judy obeyed her friend, not only does she have to squeeze in the impossibly tiny bathroom, watch her friend pee, and awkwardly not notice if any passing of the gas slips out (and what if Judy knew that SHE had passing of the gas that needed to happen?? Now she has to hold it forever?!), but she loses the opportunity to relieve her own bladder even sooner – because the big bathroom option is now off the table.



I DO hope her Depends underwear survived her plight. And I hope that Judy NEVER EVER finds herself chatting with her friend while waiting on a Port-A-Potty.

So. Lest you miss it, the moral of this extremely important opinion piece is, friends don’t pressure friends into joining them in one-hole bathrooms. And also, #PrayForJudysPantyhose.

From Where All Knowledge Gurgles Forth.

While I was helping Ali find a haul of reading material at our local library earlier this week, I happened upon this instant classic.



Surely the authors were just trolling parents of tweens. Surely they realized what they were doing.


Then again, maybe they’re of that new generation – the cross-section of humankind that my daughter is staunchly a part of – the ones that insist that Uranus is pronounced YOUR-uh-nus.

(Which doesn’t sound much better but a little.)

Regardless of whether they were simply writing for the innocent, clean, YOUR-uh-nus-pronouncing new generation or they were purposefully trying to make me spit my water at a library book, I was intrigued.

And as soon as I left, I was absolutely kicking myself for not borrowing the book.

I sent the cover to Chris, and he and I immediately disagreed as to the meaning of the book.


I felt it was about the perils of flatulence. Or maybe about how to use a particularly helpful essential oil.


Chris felt it was an allegory of a precious friend’s Instagrammed hemorrhoids.

Whatever it was, I had to discover the jewels contained within.

So that night, at 11pm, while I was delirious from child-induced exhaustion and a double dose of chocolate, I bought the book on Kindle so that I could quickly skim it and use the search feature to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

Here is my summary of this life-changing literature, all quotes from within its magical pages. I recommend reading it aloud for the best results.

“I am Uranus, ruler of the sky!”

Uranus’s voice sounded oddly familiar.

Uranus took shape in the darkness above them. The Olympians stared at him in awe. He was massive, bigger than any Titan they had ever seen. His dark-blue form filled the entire sky, arching from one end of the horizon to the other.

Uranus boomed in answer.

Uranus nodded his enormous head.

They whipped around to see what—or who—Uranus was talking about.

“Butt out. I can handle this myself, Father!” Cronus yelled up to Uranus in an irritated voice.

Poseidon was staring at Uranus. “Wow! Who knew there was such a gigantic gigantic being? So should we fear him like he asked?”

His eyes blazing, Oceanus looked up at his father, Uranus.

Uranus laughed.

Caught between Uranus in the sky, the Olympians were sitting ducks.

Uranus stared in shock.

Uranus fought back, producing stars that appeared sharper and more dangerous than any they had ever seen.

Uranus’s giant body still stretched from one end of the horizon to the other.

“Looks like Uranus is leaving,” remarked Athena.

The sky had grown darker as they walked, and this time Uranus wasn’t the cause. It really was almost night.

“Uranus wants me to destroy you, but that’s not what I want. Not anymore, anyway.”

“I know you want to escape Titan troubles, but shouldn’t we wait for those incoming bubbles?” Uranus sing-songed.

“You’re getting bubbles on my food!’ she complained.

Aphrodite giggled. “I can’t help it. They do as they please.”

After finishing the book, Amazon requested that I leave a review.

Because I’m a helpful person, I was glad to oblige.



I hope all the people find it helpful.

Questionably The Most Intelligent Creature.

A giraffe calf can stand up and walk within an hour of its birth.

…Yet we’re wiping butts for at least four years.

Baby dolphins have spines on the sides of their tongue that zip up to make a straw so that they can drink milk without getting salt water in it.

…Yet we’re cleaning out blasted sippy cup mold until they’re three (or until they’re eleven if they’re exceptionally spilly variety of kid.)

When puppies play fight, boy puppies will often let girl puppies win.

…Yet our kids look at us with wonder and confusion when we suggest the horror of sharing.

Baby Elephants will suck their own trunks for comfort.

…Yet we have to sneak into our infant’s rooms and replace their pacifiers 25 times a night. And then when they’re toddlers, we get at least a dozen callbacks a night. “My feet are cold I can’t close my eyes I just thought about elephants sucking on their trunks can I have a drink of water I think I heard a ladybug the curtains are SCARY!!”

Ducklings can leave the nest after only a couple of hours.

…Yet we’re not promised our house back even after our children have Bachelor’s Degrees. And maybe even MBAs.

Baby Japanese Macaques make snowballs. Not for any actual purpose – just for fun.

…Yet human children beg us to entertain them and whine continuously of boredom and are certain that no game will work without Mommy being an integral part of it.

When baby sea otters are born, they’re too fluffy to sink.

…Yet without us, our babies are completely and 100% helpless and unable to survive. UNTIL THEY’RE TWENTY-FIVE.

Young horses will be able to walk side-by-side with their parents within hours after birth.

…Yet we will push those awkward, clunky jogging strollers until our six-year-old’s feet are dragging the ground.

Baby hyenas begin to learn to hunt for themselves at 12 months old.

…Yet our precious offspring, the ones with fully functional opposable thumbs, assume we’ve been sent here by God to serve them. It is our greatest purpose. (And also when they open the fridge they see nothing there to eat.)

Hippo babies are weaned and fully ready to take care of themselves at eight months old.

…Yet at eight months, our babies can still only get around via Mommy’s left hip. And assume baby food is for smearing all over their face and throwing at the wall. And also find their own poop useful for the same purpose.

Sharks have fully developed teeth and eyes when they’re born, and are immediately self-sustainable.

…Yet “clean your own room and no I will not help you” is met with bewilderment and frightened exclamations of certain impossibility and death if attempted.

So what exactly makes humans the top of the food chain?

I Have No Idea

Baby animal facts learned from here, here, here, here, and here, and presented with enough grains of salt to spell out “I found this on the internet, y’all. It has to be true!”