Midlife Cabernet: Please Don't Pee on the Seat

Midlife Cabernet: Please Don't Pee on the Seat

That yell heard yesterday in the Minneapolis Airport was me in the women's bathroom. In a hurry to visit the restroom before changing planes, I dashed into the first open stall, quickly arranged the paper halo around the seat, and then unwittingly sat in the residue of a squatter - those intrepid women who think they can avoid germs by hovering over the toilet and doing their business without sitting down. This physical act required thigh muscles of a wrestler and accurate aim seen only in "The Hunger Games."

I usually follow potty patrons who have the spray radius of a spigot on an agriculture sprinkler pipe. Irrigating the back 40 acres would be easy for these squatters - just let it go, let it go. (Oops, wrong analogy.) I wonder if the guilty gushers ever think to look back and maybe gauge if any urine actually got into the bowl. With the automatic flushers, it's difficult to determine. Still, they might try observing the obvious puddles around the seat and the foul lake on the floor. Unless there is a potting training or health issue, there is no excuse for peeing on the seat and leaving it there. Especially if I'm next in line.

Most of us assume we can enter a public restroom and leave without needing to shower and get a penicillin shot. Now we must scope out the stall and prepare to do janitorial duty. Maybe we could have a chart on the back of the door for squatters to add stars in they can hit the bowl and not leave a mess. Otherwise, slap on the paper, Sister, and sit down like the rest of us. 

In my travels, I have encountered various types of facilities. In Egypt, you pay an attendant in a public restroom and she will give you one tiny sheet of toilet paper. More pay, more paper. In Thailand, the toilet and the shower were in the same room without a separating wall or curtain. The public bathroom in India offered a hole in the ground and two footrests - but the floor was in gleaming marble. In England, the shared water closet was at the end of the hall and the commode was activated by pulling on a chain. But here in the USA, we have a wonderful invention that removes everything automatically without stress - if used correctly.

One more point. The women's public bathrooms usually have a long line of squirming women because men design airports, sporting events, and theaters. If men had to wait for a private stall every time and then gyrate out of pantyhose, belts, and buttons while the next person was peeking under the stall to see if they were finished yet, you can bet your bulging bladder there would be ten times more bathrooms. We'd be happy if they would just double the number of facilities for women and these venues would have millions of happy, satisfied female customers. Maybe they could add special stalls designated for "Squatters Only" that would have loud buzzers for excess spraying, grates, and automatic washers on the floors. That could really piss off the worst offenders.

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