it's raining men! hallelujah, it's raining men!

I've just emerged from the ladies' room.  But let me preface the story by admitting that I'm recovering from pee-shyness.  I don't know where it came from, because bodily functions were completely acceptable in my house growing up.  When I started dating, I never used the restroom at my boyfriends' houses.  I'd hold it until my kidneys ached.  My high school boyfriend, whom I dated for two years, was astonished by my capacity.  It was part of my downfall: when I finally caved and excused myself to use the restroom at his house, he made an offhand comment about never having seen me do so, and oh, the shame.  He now knew I had a bladder!

I also never used the restrooms at school, and routinely went from 6:45am to 3:00pm without peeing.  Public restrooms are gross, and cliquey girls hang out in school restrooms, and I really was just far more comfortable waiting until I got home -- well, except for the kidney aches and the strategic sitting positions.  And the whole menarche thing necessitated the occasional ladies' room visit...but by and large, I only peed at home.  Never mind the other thing, which was certainly not an option outside the privacy of my home.  Eventually, this practice led to kidney stones, and I had to give up my urination disorder on pain of white-hot knives to the ureters.

I once dated a guy for who had little sense of propriety.  We only dated for about two weeks, and as such didn't have a lot of time to grow comfortable around each other.  In fact, being around him was fairly uncomfortable in general because he always had to be touching me -- and I mean constantly in possession of my body, holding on to me -- which was why it didn't last.  We started dating because he had this sweatshirt that I totally loved.  I'm fairly certain it was the extent of my attraction to him, because he wasn't very smart or very clean and we didn't have much in common.  He certainly wasn't bothered by stage fright.  We were on the phone one night and the pauses and audible grimaces, combined with the slight echo to his side of the conversation, finally led me to ask what he was doing.  "Taking a dump," he replied, forthrightly.  Oh. My. God.  We definitely did not know each other well enough for that.  We'd never even seen each other naked.  I informed him he could call me back when he was finished with his business and promptly hung up.

Now there's this trend of cell phones in public restrooms, which annoys the living shit out of me.  I'm speaking figuratively, of course, although I am capable of moving my bowels in a public restroom when the need arises if:

1. The restroom is empty, or
2. The restroom is sufficiently noisy, or
3. I'm traveling away from home (because oftentimes convenience and necessity fail to overlap in those circumstances, creating a situation that is far more uncomfortable than an overful bladder) AND have sufficient anonymity from, or stranger-ness to, anyone else who happens to be occupying said restroom.

When folks are yapping on the phone in a public restroom, it makes me want to embarrass the hell out of them with disgusting noises -- real or staged -- and perhaps commentary.  "What am I going to do?! Oh, god, that's never going to look the same again!  Oh, NOOOOOOOOO!!!!"  Another option is singing.  Or just repeatedly hitting the flush lever, because the acoustics of a restroom make it difficult to converse over the sound of a toilet flushing, plus it removes all doubt of location for the person on the other end of the line.

Seriously, what conversation warrants continuation through a bathroom visit?  If it's so important that it really can't wait, you probably shouldn't be relieving yourself while having it.  I mean, there's a distraction aspect to consider.  And if it's just a chat, why don't you demonstrate some common courtesy to the person to whom you're speaking, and not subject him or her to the goings-on of the lavatory?  Just send a text, for Christ's sake.