Friday, October 14, 2011

The Potty Trot

There is a direct correlation with my drink of choice for the night, and where the restroom is. I daydream about how nice it would be to have an attachable catheter at times. Once that caught on, I'd patent a portable catheter that fits in a girls clutch. That's a gift from yours truly.

When out, I immediately assess the situation about distance to the restroom and terrain to get there in heels. When out at a club - please don't let me misrepresent myself here, I do NOT dance, but I do 'bar' (to be used as a verb like the east coast says 'summer') - I refuse to order a beer, for the pure fact that I know I'm going to have to wait an awkward 30 minutes engulfed in a sea of future The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills cast memebers. I don't care that Johnny slept with So-and-so, but I do care that you just mentioned crabs, and now I'm aware to not use that toilet after you. On top of that, I had to walk my ass all the way over here. Then over there and back again. And again. Unless our outfit permitted, we are certainly not in wedges, we are in the sharpest stilettos we can find. You hit one brick out of place, or one slippery tile, and you're about to have that famous Woohoo Wink moment (panties or no panties, nobody falls with their legs closed). 

Girls call it 'breaking the seal,' it's after we've peed for the first time after a few drinks. Once you start, you've broken the seal, and you're never going to stop. Then you have that internal conflict about waiting for all of Niagara Falls to finish, or to pinch it so you don't make the double doosey of peeing constantly and taking forever. I waffle between this. Then we get to the hover. Every girl knows the hover. The key is to wedge your stiletto into the grout between the tiles or between the wood planks. I personally go for the handicapped horizonal bar. God. Bless. As we all are clear, I'm lazy. And I'm F-ing hovering. I'm using the handicapped bar. Otherwise you have to do the UBER tilt and change your squat angle from 45 degrees to 15 degrees. Boys: if you walked into a girls bathroom at the club, you will see that every single seat looks like your frat house. If one is clean, then you know damn well that someone was either beyond lazy or full blown trashed and didn't care, and is probably the one crying about Johnny with Crabs. 

While I'll do the hover, I'd rather not. So I'll stick with a drink that wont cause me to do the Potty Trot every 10 mins. I love you drunk girls, you're amazing to 'people watch' but I'm too lazy tiptoe my ass over there and hover over an already short seat just to realize the toilet paper is gone.

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