Since I am no longer pissed about this, I think I can write about it without sounding like a complete bitch. Or maybe not.
Trying to get some filing done at our office/warehouse today was an exercise in frustration.
The husband took the bathroom key with him. Now, why would you EVER take the bathroom key out of the office? The only time you would ever need the key would be WHEN YOU ARE IN THE OFFICE!! And if you take it with you, the other person who frequently uses the office, and might need the bathroom, CAN'T GET IN! And this other person often has a smaller version of the husband in tow, who has just learned to use the potty in the first place, and can't hold it forever!
But wait. I can get in the men's bathroom. For some reason, the door usually doesn't close all the way, so even if it's locked, you can still open it.
So, we went in the men's bathroom. Not once. Not twice. Not three times. NO, we went in the men's bathroom SEVEN times! Some of those visits lasted five minutes. One was for almost 20 minutes! You see, my son had to do #2. And he must take after me, because he wasn't too crazy about doing it in a public restroom. He kept hearing noises. He thought the bathroom had monsters. Yes, really. Monsters. Another thing his father taught him.
I kept hearing noises, too. But I wasn't worried about monsters. I was worried about some man coming in to find a woman bending over a kid and saying, "Here comes the poopy."
Hey, sometimes he needs encouragement. You do what you have to do.
I would just like to know why men's restrooms are so much filthier than women's? WHAT do they do in there? Never mind. I don't really want to know that. But I had to put down a thick coating of toilet paper on the seat (all seven times) before I let my precious child sit on it. And I must have said "DON'T TOUCH THAT" fifty times.
This is why restrooms are divided into "men's" and "women's". We don't want to share with them.
Come to think of it, I should have my own bathroom at home, too.