Wednesday, September 21, 2011


The wonders of human nature never cease to hold me captive in their wonder. Nope. Never.

Today I had the occasion to visit Barefoot Landing in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. For any of you readers who haven't come upon that locale yet, it has my high endorsement, and so you should go.
But I digress. This evening I also had the experience to visit the "Powder Room" at said location. Twice, actually. But that is neither here nor there.
For those unfamiliar with this location, you'll need a primer on Barefoot Landing Bathroom Stalls. You see, they are a bit different from the stalls you may be familiar with. Or at least, they sure were for me.
It seems I am used to a bathroom with many stalls, all in a row, and all sporting doors that go from near the floor to high above my head. I think of them more like closets of anonymity really. I go in there, I'm hidden from view; all on my own in my own little cell of solitude. Then Flush and out I come.
Call me crazy, but I feel a certain need for this particular level of privacy in a public bathroom. I do. I need it. I love it, really.
And so it came as somewhat a surprise when I entered this bathroom to find that the stall doors stopped where my chest began. I felt like an absolute giant (all five foot, 6 inches of me) as I stared out around  me; a mighty creature surveying the kingdom of the bathroom. My eyes briefly met the furrowed brows of several other patrons, equally confused as to why we were able to make eye contact in a place where little to know ocular acknowledgement is the way to go.
I hastened about my purpose, keeping myself bent at my knees and truly begrudging my silly choice to wear a stupid belt. And then I was outta there, with no plans for a return visit.

And then Caedance had to go.

"Mommy, I gotta go poopie. I think it's coming out, right now."

Great. Let's run, honey. Off we go.

I quickly ushered my slightly waddling offspring into the bathroom, delivering her to the nearest stall and stepping inside with her as she began her important task of "making a twosie". Normally I would lock the stall door, but honestly I couldn't see why that was necessary this time. I mean, for heaven's sake, with my standing up in there I was more than completely visible. You could read my Bayside Tigers shirt. (I love Saved By The Bell). How could you miss me? So I stood there, silently hoping that Caedance didn't do the whole "Take My Time" thing right now because it was just really awkward to stand there.

About 3 minutes into our quiet contemplation over "Where The Poop Could Possibly Be" (I didn't have an answer for her), the door to the bathroom opened up and another lady walked in. Now I'm not sure if it truly exists or not, but if it does, this lady literally waltzed into the bathroom doing a lovely rendition of the Pee Pee Dance. She truly did. She had her pants ready to go, all that was needed was a stall.
And that's when she began to push into the stall that Caedance and I were in. Since I was against the door, it didn't really open, but that didn't phase our intrepid, Pee Pee Dancing visitor. She pushed harder.

"Um, yes..I'm in here, actually," I said as I looked down at our unwanted guest over the door. Her head was down in concentration, perhaps more worried about her own issues just then, so she gave the door yet another gentle push.

"Hello there?" I smiled down at her.
She looked up at me, startled perhaps at the vision of a blond giant looking down at her from the bathroom door.
"Yes. Hi then. We're actually in this stall. So. You know, maybe you could try another one?"
She snapped out of her stupor just then and shook her head. "Oh!" she said in surprise. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I.......I'm sorry."
"No problem. None at all. Have a nice day," I added generously, being the kindly giant that I clearly was.

At this moment Caedance announced that all was good and she was done.
It was with a feeling of great relief that out we went, leaving that odd little porcelain kingdom behind us as we entered the nightlife that is, Barefoot Landing.

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