I never thought of "taking a wiz" as much of a luxury. I'm so speedy in the bathroom I can beat about any guy in a race. It's something you do because you have to, and you move on with your life when you're done. I never really thought of it as relaxing. I had not thought about it at all, really, until I started helping out at the family tire shop.
Our tire shop isn't anything fancy. There's no tiled waiting room, no plants sitting around, no tv. It's a dirty old workshop with a make-shift office complete with desk, bare wood walls, and that slick gray concrete that's in your unfinished basement.
It shares a building with the town bar, and between the two is a small hallway with a men's room and a ladies' room. It's technically part of the bar, so they take care of it. Er, ah, they claim it.
The trash is always full. Soap is usually empty, toilet stains, flies, floor never mopped. You name it, it's there. Granted I could easily go over and clean it spic and span, but inevitably the bar crowd would dirty it again each weekend and I would then be in an endless cycle of cleaning for nothing.
First I will myself not to even go. I won't go. I'll hold it. I am a potty camel of sorts.
But then it hits me. Too much tea. Way too much tea, and I have to go. And while I can wait a LONG time, once I do have to go, I gotta go now.
I squiggle and squirm like a potty-training two-year old, too stubborn to go to the toilet. By the time I actually go, I'm running at lightning speeds to get there.
I immediately take the position in front of the toilet: Drop trou, feet shoulder-width apart. One step back, squat and hover.
I told you, I go fast. But it feels like an eternity as my legs burn in torture holding my entire being as far from that
Today as I hovered there, I thought of all the stay-at-home mommies and their toy-filled, bleach-scented bathrooms with nothing to worry about but baby germs and Daddy leaving the seat up. And I was jealous of their