Dirty public toilets: the bane of my existence

I have a dream that one day obsessive compulsive, clean people will rise up and live out the true meaning of the creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all public toilets are not created equal.”

I have a dream that there’s no presents from Aunt Flo wrapped up in toilet paper and kicked to the corners of stalls.

Thank heavens for the comfort of my own toilet.

I have a dream that no smears decorate the toilet seat, nor sprinkles.  (No matter how much you shake and dance, the last few drops fall on your pants.  Or the seat.)

The dream I dreamt last night was vivid, so clear I can recall the finer details, which usually disappear somewhere between the first barely conscious roll out of bed and brushing the night away from your teeth.  (Mmmmm, morning breath.  Almost as lovely as morning hair that makes you look like a crazy cat lady.)

The scene: a big church wedding.  I was groomswoman again for my cousin, meaning I was crucial to the actual ceremony (not as crucial as the main attractions, but important just the same.)  FYI, he was renewing his vows, I think, since his bride was his current wife.

The stands (well, pews) were full of spectators dressed in their Sunday best, but when I went to the church washroom, I discovered (horror of all horrors!) the guests had not flushed.  Furthermore, they left flotsam in all the stalls.

It was 20 minutes before the wedding and I really had to go.  (Though I don’t remember if it was Number #1 or Number #2.)

Thankfully, there was a Tim Horton’s close by.  Tim Horton’s is one of the best places to find a clean washroom, as well as Irving gas stations.  They smell good.  They look good.  Plus, afterward, you can buy coffee and frosted carbs.

I dashed out of the church.  I had to drive to get to the Tim’s, so I put the vehicle in gear, and roared out of the parking lot.

Though my dream was mostly about washrooms, I remember little of the actual washroom experience.  However, I did decide to go through the drive through and get a coffee.

“I’ll have a medium coffee.  Single, single, single,” I said.  I’m not sure what the third single was for.  The cup?

It took forever to finally get my coffee and I knew time was ticking.  When I finally pulled away from the window, I discovered a group of daycare kids in my way.

I looked at my watch.  Almost six.  Crap.  The wedding party was probably waiting on me.

I considered running over the kids but decided they were too cute.

Finally some of the daycare workers herded them out of the way and I crept through the parking lot and towards the church.

The minister looked frantic when I finally trotted up to the room where the wedding party was waiting.

“I needed to pee,” I told my cousin.  “The washrooms* here were disgusting so I had to go to Tim Horton’s.”

I said this while sipping my coffee.

At this point, it was 6:20 and I still didn’t have my groomswoman dress on.  I set down the coffee and pulled on the gown.  Though everyone was a tad annoyed I was late, it seemed to be all right that I needed to tinkle in a clean washroom.

This bizarre dream is a testament to the following:

  1. I’m perpetually late because I’m always trying to do one more thing.  I don’t mean to have horrible time management skills.  I just try to do too much!
  2. I sometimes get road rage when waiting patiently to get somewhere on time because I didn’t leave 10 minutes early like I was supposed to!
  3. I’m obsessed with going to the washroom even in my dreams.  If one is not available, I have to go that much worse!
  4. I can’t force myself to tinkle in a disgusting washroom, namely because I can’t hover without tinkling on my shoes and/or pants.  Plus, I get the heebie-geebies from all those potential germs.
  5. I’m so addicted to coffee, I require it in dreams.

I think that summarizes it all.

Thankfully, after this situation, the wedding went off without a hitch and everyone lived happily ever after.

And I had my coffee.

I think, though, it was body’s way of telling me I needed to wake up, pee, and brew my morning cup of joe.

* Though for this blog post I used the term washrooms appropriately, in real life, I use the term bathrooms, showing just how gauche I am.  After all, there are no bathtubs in them, as my teachers used to remind me!


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