Kelly In Catty

This blog is Kell's attempt to keep in touch with friends far away who complain that I don't e-mail nearly enough.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Life in the Ladies' Room

Ok. I understand a few things about women. I’m one of them, after all. First thing, is – regardless of whether a girl’s an introvert, an extrovert, or some sort of convert, she needs her privacy in the ladies’ room. Women may arrive at the lavatory together, but they only talk if they can SEE each other. We don't really discuss things over the stall's walls. (Ok. If the conversation began pre-entry into the lavatory-space, it MAY continue over the wall – but generally, we’re quiet while indisposed. We, like ostriches, believe that if we can't see our friends, then they can't see us!). That’s why at the office, most women very likely consider the ladies’ room the private “getaway” to collect three-minute thoughts.

The truth be known, even though the women's bathroom in my office has four cubicles, I would just as soon be in there alone. A bathroom should be a fortress of solitude. No kryptonite, no conversation, no one doing what I’m doing…

Because of this, I felt kind of bad yesterday. It was 5:20pm. I had to go to the bathroom before I drove home (I know. I have a two-mile commute, and where I prefer to wait if I can, I just finished drinking a gallon of water – UPSIDE DOWN – trying to get rid of the hiccups) (so waiting wasn’t an option.)

A co-worker was already in a stall. I finished. We emerged at the same time. Before I get much further into this, I need to tell you I’ve had a crappy cold for a MONTH. My nose is running, stuffy, and barely lets in air. Any additional olfactory information is pretty much not admitted right now. In other words, if at any time during the last month, I stepped in cow dung, I would not know it.

Co-worker sheepishly said, “Sorry. I thought I was alone. I didn’t want anyone to be subjected to the Chinese food I had for lunch. It didn’t agree with me.

I swear I didn’t smell a thing. Remember. “I hab a code!”

I said, “Don’t worry. I have a cold. I can’t smell a thing!” I was being totally, completely, and brutally honest.

“You’re so polite,” she said.

There was no masking her embarassment. She didn't buy a word of my cold. She wouldn't have appreciated the cow dung example... So I just took the high road, opened the door, and said, “Don’t mention it.”


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