Ladie's Room or Bust

A VIEW FROM THE KITCHEN WINDOW
By Chris Sherman
Ladie’s Room or Bust

True story. Hubby and I took a ride to visit friends way out in Western Mass. Before I left the house, I ate a quarter of a whole seedless watermelon, drank a cup of tea, and on the way out of town we drove through for an iced coffee. (Yes, I’m dieting again.)
We were cruising along on 495, chatting and solving all our parental problems, when it hits me. I need a ladies room and I need one now!
Hubby was on a roll, reciting a monologue about how the kids need to do more for themselves and how I’m handicapping them for life. He was about to expound upon the twelfth reason why they should be able to cook their own nutritional meals, when I let out a deep, Lamaze like breath.
“Is something the matter?” he asks, coming in for a verbal landing.
“I need to find a restroom. Fast.”
“Why do you always wait until the last minute to tell me?”
“It just snuck up on me,” I lied.
“But where can I get off? There are no rest stops.”
“Get off anywhere. That group of prickly bushes look inviting.”
“No. I will not sit on the side of the road while you pee in the bushes.”
“No kidding. Your gonna be right beside me handing me the Kleenex.”
“I’ll get off at the next exit. There’s bound to be a store or gas station.”
By now I’m squirming and panting and writhing and whimpering.
Finally the blessed green of an exit sign. Some town we never heard of. He veers off and comes to a “T” intersection.
“Which way?”
“I don’t care. Just go!”
He chooses “right”.
Well, “right” was wrong. We are now headed down the bumpiest road never paved. Every jolt is a stab to the bladder. I’m starting to question whether we are going to remain married after I pee my pants and ruin his leather seat. I envision him chasing me with a sharp object when he realizes we have to buy a new car. I picture him in jail.
Mercifully, we hit pavement again and lo and behold, there was a convenience store. He starts, “They don’t look like they have a bathroom.”
“Of course they have a bathroom. The employees have to “go” don’t they?”
“Yeah. But they won’t let you use it.”
“Nobody is that cruel. Pull over.”
I fly out of the car only to realize that I can’t walk. One false move and the dam would give-way. I limp painfully into the store, trying to breath normally. There had to be a thousand people in there, all at the cash register. The cashier was too busy to notice me limp in. I hated her. I frantically gave a visual scan of the place to see if another employee might be lurking about and where a bathroom might be.
There! Land-ho! A woman sitting on the floor pricing cans of baked beans. Keeping my legs glued together, I sidle over, Quasi Motto style. “Please!” I cry, “can I use your bathroom?”
Now, I know she sees me all doubled over, and I know she sees the pained look on my face and the sweat on my forehead, yet she turns to me and says as if she doesn’t know that I know that she knows, “Sorry. No public restrooms.”
By now I’m desperate. I fling my arms out in front of me. “Please! I can’t hold it! I won’t look around. I won’t touch anything. I won’t tell a soul what I see in there. Please!” She looked skeptical, so I threw in, “I’ll buy something!”
“Well, OK. Follow me.”
I limped and followed. I told her how she was going to go to heaven for this. I told her I would never forget her for this. I think I told her I loved her.
And I did. I loved everyone by the time I got out of that store. I was in a complete state of euphoria. Oh, and I kept my promise. I bought something. A 32 oz. bottle of water.
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