Sunday, November 10, 2013

Potty Mouth

I hate public bathrooms. I can't stand them. Bacteria, pee, smells, blood (nasty women), poop... I just shuddered typing these words. I hate public restrooms.

I hate public restrooms so much that my first few months in Dallas, I refused to use the loo while on campus. My bladder was about to burst every time I arrived home after being at school from 7am to 5pm and sitting in traffic on loop 12. It got to be such a problem that I ended up with a urinary tract infection that I didn't know I had.

I was just nauseous and my back kind of hurt. I couldn't hold my head up I felt so sick. When I finally drove myself to a doctor I was given the bad news that I had a pretty bad infection and it was starting to effect my kidneys. The doctor lectured me about my wiping habits (as if I didn't know how to wipe after 24 years), peeing before and after doing the deed, and more relevantly, not holding my urine in my bladder for hours. She just didn't get it. I took microbiology in high school (shout out to Mr. Jones), college, and grad school. Has she never done those swabbing experiments? The things that grow on those petri dishes. *gags*

To make matters worse, my parents owned a cleaning service. I remember them inspecting a bathroom in a public library to see if their employees were properly doing their job. A black light does not belong in a bathroom. Just trust me on that one. And guys, seriously...is peeing on the walls absolutely necessary? Have you not learned to aim that thing yet? It has only been attached to you for, uhhh...I don't know...your whole life?

With all this said, I will use a public wash room if I absolutely, necessarily have to. But trust me, jumping a curb with my car to be behind a bank and pissing in the grass behind my car door guarding my assets will always take precedence over a public restroom (one of my prouder peeing moments...sadly) Once, at a rugby game in Ft. Worth, I had to pee like a Russian race horse (which by the way still makes no sense to me). We were at a public park and I knew that I would have to use a public restroom at some point especially because I started drinking at 10 that morning. To my surprise they only had porta potties. I had never used one nor was I planning to but this was a completely open field and I wasn't going to make it to the nearest restroom. Needless to say, I came out of the potty crying like a baby because my experience was so bad.

By now I have lost half of you, wondering what the fuck is this post actually about? Well, now that I live with kids and do shit with kids, and kids...especially girl kids have to use the restroom a lot, I do the public John more than I'd like. I know God put me in this situation because he thought it would be a comedy; I'm sure it is.

Cue toddler potty stories. 

When I graduated from school, Harleigh only wanted to spend her few short hours with me. That included going to the latrine. It definitely wasn't the best experience taking her to the bathroom in Twisted Root. I did however have a very proud moment when she lifted up her foot to flush the toilet. I don't know where she learned it or who she learned it from, but I appreciate a germaphobe. My happiness did not last long though as I saw her long flowing hair get closer to the toilet bowl. She lost her balance and I catch her. Oh. Em. Gee that could have been bad. We're gonna have to remember to wait until we are older to do that. 

Once we took the girls to the circus when it came to town and it was quite an interesting experience. First, I don't remember the circuses I've been to very well, but I am pretty sure that they weren't a Mexican talent show. I was so confused by what was happening. Harleigh told her mommy that she needed to go the bathroom, but she was clearly not in the mood to take the 3 year old in a pull-up on that journey. Annoyed I told her to come on. We walked up a gajillion stairs and went swiftly to the bathroom as to not miss too much of the show.

Before we walk in, I remind myself that the CenturyLink has some of the cleanest restrooms in town. Not only is that a fact, but there were no obnoxious drunk people there to miss the toilet or puke on the seats. I walk the small human being to the closest stall and when I get into the stall I realize how claustrophobic I am. There is just not enough room in those things for 2 people. Small or not. I bend down to help her with her pants and realize I am eye level with a public toilet. I just need to move as quickly as possible.

She gets on to the seat. Shit. I didn't think about that. She had to use her hands. Her hands have now touched hundreds of "Ratchet City's" nasty asses. I can't wait until she is tall enough to teach her to hover. She sits there and talks to me proceeding to put her hands on her face. "NO!" I scream. She's shocked. I said, "We don't touch our face in the bathroom." Dodged a nasty bullet there. She finishes up and goes to flush the toilet. Oh God No. I told her I could handle it and lifted my foot to flush the toilet and get out of that stall as swiftly as possible.

I lift baby girl up to wash her hands. She turns the knob, gets soap, and rubs her hands for 0.6 seconds. You're supposed to rub your hands through your ABC's. Totally unsatisfactory. She then turns the knob off putting those ass germs back on her hands. Sigh. She runs over to the paper towels, dries off her hands and is proudly ready to leave. I grab her arm. Say, "hold on", pull out my pink and glittery hand sanitizer and teach her a lesson on OCD. 



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