"May you find some comfort here" --Sarah McLachlan

As long as we're discussing bathroom-related stuff... I'd thought I'd share these recent bathroom oddities:

In a conference facility bathroom, I saw this.*


What's this? A standard flush toilet. But there's a sign...


Huh? Like an idiot, I looked around. No button anywhere. Guess I was lucky, there was that high-tech handle.

And in a local restaurant, I found a toilet with guest seating:


How... *perplexed look* ...gracious?

Despite the stereotype, I do not need girlfriends to accompany me to the Ladies Room.*** Especially, not into the same stall. Call me un-share-y if you must. I guess the chair comes in handy if you need to take a child in with you and you don't have one of these...

[Brilliant, right?!]


But I've never known a child to just wait patiently in a chair while Mom uses the facilities. Most toddlers spend their time stooping down to play "peek-a-boo" with the person in the next stall. Which brings me to the question du jour:

What is the protocol for responding to this? Is a discrete kick out of the question?




* I almost wrote "In a conference facility bathroom, I came upon this." but thought better of it.**

** In other news, I'm eight.

***What do these ladies do when they're alone? Hold it?

"Feliz Navidad" -- Jose Feliciano, singing the only decent Christmas song

We are invited to a 'holiday' party Saturday night.* We walk in and the place is already crowded. We locate the host and he welcomes us.

He then invites me to play "find the pickle".

My reaction:


As you can imagine, this is not the first time a man has suggested this game to me. Well, okay, it is. In that particular terminology.

Turns out there's some German tradition of getting a pickle ornament and putting it somewhere on the Christmas tree for others to locate. News to me. Those wacky Germans.

I go over to the rather large tree that is packed with ornaments and do a scan.*** A boy of about eight walks up next to me.

Boy: Are you looking for the pickle?
Me: Yes.
Boy: I know where it is.
Me: You do?
Boy: Yes.
Me: I haven't spotted it yet... Where is it?
Boy: I can see it right now.
Me, trying to match my line of sight to his: You can?
Boy: I'm staring right at it.
Me, getting irritated: You are?
Boy: Yes.
Me, tempted to headbutt the child out of the way: You've got a clear line of sight on it, huh?
Second boy walks up: Are you looking for the pickle?
First boy: She is.
Second boy, in a bored tone: I can see it.
First boy: I know. Wanna play hockey?
Second boy: Okay.
Me: Wait! Where's the pickle?!
First boy: You see the letter?
Me, scanning until I find a letter ornament: Letter... letter... Yes!
First boy, rolling his eyes: It's right next to that.
Me: Um...
First boy, with an exaggerated sigh: Way in the back.

It still takes me another minute to find it because the pickle is not a standard pickle green but the sickly bright green of a thousand irradiated pickles that have been dipped in clear coat to add an unhealthy shine. It is behind other ornaments next to the core of the tree.

The boys run off.

Someone walks up next to me.

Me, smugly: Looking for the pickle?



* People say 'holiday' when what they mean is their holiday: Christmas. But, fine. A party is a party. And this party had cocktail shrimp the size of my hand.**

** I once had a roommate who could not fathom the idea that some people did not celebrate Christmas. She kept insisting "Everyone celebrates Christmas." Me: "Um, actually, no." It's in the name, people.

*** It's not something I put on my resume but I am quite the whiz at finding the hidden objects in the Highlights magazine puzzle. I can even find the comb! I kick butt at the pediatrician's office.