I look at your face when I pee.
I don’t know what the measure of success is but I thought maybe you’d want to learn that information.
I figured you’d want to know that at this one place that I go to about three times a year, there is a poster with you on it and it always makes me introspective.
I think about that time you came to my 17th birthday party and were puking in the bathroom before it even started. I didn’t know you. I still don’t. If you puking was the measure of success, my party was average. You were known for puking.
Your boyfriend is on the poster too. Is it weird that I recognize his face more than yours? I think that says something about how I relate to men and women. It should probably make me sad. But it really just makes me wonder if I’ll ever find someone I want to be with for as long as you’ve been with him. And not in a jealous, longing way. But more in a “is that something I’m capable of” kind of way. Because like, forever is a long time. And even though “forever” gets smaller and smaller as I get older, it still feels just as big as it did when I was 7 years old professing to Angela that we’d be best friends forever. That turned out to be untrue. And I have a feeling any forever I was able to muster at this point would have the same fate. Side note: Angela, if you’re reading this, you were my best friend for a time and that time was cool.
Cool like the toilet seat that holds up my cheeks as I remember some girl that went to my High School. We’re bonded in a weird way. Bonded in a way unbeknownst to you. By toilets. Your face in my toilet at seventeen, my bum on a toilet at thirty-one while I stare at your face. Full porcelain circle.
Whitney Cummings has revolutionized the way I pee. In her new book I’m Fine… and Other Lies she explains why women take frequent trips to the bathroom: they never fully empty their bladder. Everyone is familiar with the Squatty Potty and the adorable Unicorn that made rainbow shits look appetizing. What this fun commercial didn’t explain was the squatting position that the apparatus placed you in was also beneficial for female bladder evacuation.
Cut to me in a public bathroom stall pressing my hands against the stall walls to anchor myself as I lean back and lift my feet off the ground. It’s good for the core. What it’s not so good for is making sure pee stays in the pee receptacle. But alas, as someone who has been known to hover to avoid butt to seat contact, I am no stranger to pee on the toilet seat. The small mess is a welcome possibility if it means fewer trips to the water closet.
The part that I do have qualms with is why, OH WHY is a bathroom revolution not in full swing? Gluten becomes an issue and suddenly every restaurant jumps at the opportunity to add gluten-free options to the menu. People express a frustration that their phone battery dies too quick and suddenly free charging stations pop up in malls and bars. Not to mention a simple walk to the bank became so inconvenient, that banks were forced to introduce cheque deposits by way of photographs.
While celiac disease is a real thing and affects many, the gluten-free lifestyle has become a bit of a fad. As for the other two examples, it’s a sign of the times that people have become both obsessed with technology and just plain lazy. If the world can come together and make adjustments for things that can really be boiled down to an inconvenience, why can’t we come together and make changes that would drastically improve the standard of living and thus health? I’m not asking to cure world hunger, though if that is what you’re offering then I gladly accept. What I am asking for is a small step, metaphorically and literally. Can we please make footstools in bathrooms readily available? Colons will be happy and bladders will be weightless.
And this way, when your girl makes one too many trips to the bathroom during dinner, you’ll know for sure that she doesn’t have a weak bladder but that she’s calling her friends for advice on how to leave this crappy date.