If it makes you feel any better,
I’ve already eaten and I’m at work right now most likely dealing with something
more disgusting than a toilet. If that doesn’t help, I suppose I’ll go ahead
and apologize in advance for the rest of this article.
I want to begin by thanking the
people who continually improve and advance indoor plumbing. I love the fact
that I can use my own private facilities daily in my home and I don’t have to
go outside and maintain some type of disgusting, ill-maintained hole. I
remember how much I slacked on a cat’s litter box so I shudder to think what
I’d do with a backyard waste maintenance program.
I also enjoy that I can go pretty
much anywhere in the United States and find a restroom. It may not be a fine
specimen of a restroom, but it is often serviceable to a minimal degree.
When I was a kid, I had a friend who
used scare tactics to divert me from my dreams of taking a trip to France. “Do
you know how they go to the bathroom in France? In a hole in the ground! The
men and women do it! They stand there and just go in the hole!”
This terrified me because I was that
kid who never went number 2 away from home. In fact, I didn’t go number 2 in a
public restroom until I was 23 years old. The day I was told that information
about France is the day I crossed Europe off my travel list. If they couldn’t
retro-fit their public facilities to accommodate shy American colons, then I
didn’t feel comfortable traveling there.
I’m happy to say that Europe is back
on my bucket list so don’t worry France, I promise I’m going to try ordering
coffee and asking how much a pair of sunglasses cost in the worst, broken French
one of these days.
Last week was the 12 hours of
Sebring which I try to attend each year. My husband, Chris, and I decided to
stay in our tent on Friday night because it wasn’t going to be as cold as
Thursday night. Boy was it still cold!
Chris escorted me to the nearest bathroom
and I chose the one stall without toilet paper. Wonderful.
After getting in the tent and
bundling up, my nose was the only part of my body I couldn’t keep under the
covers. It was like having the tip of a popsicle stuck on my face.
Around 5 in the morning, Chris was
snuggling closer to me for warmth, but my bladder was a bit too full and there
was no way I was venturing out into the tundra. My mind told me it couldn’t be
less than 50 degrees, but my body said it felt like 20 and my backside was
convinced the toilet seat would feel like a block of ice chiseled from the edge
of a glacier.
Because of that adventure, we will
not be staying in a tent next year. There’s just something special about your
own bed and even more so about being in the proximity of your own toilet. I
know I’ve been appreciating mine a little extra.
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