Public restrooms scare me.  Yeah, I know, newsflash–they scare everyone!  No, but really, it’s a fear that goes way back for me–before I even knew or cared about germs and disease.  When I was little I was absolutely terrified of using our local library’s bathroom because when you flushed the toilet the sound the pipes made after was identical to the sound of David Banner morphing into the Hulk.  How could I even think about hanging around long enough to wash my hands when at any moment the very non-jolliest of green giants might come crashing out of the adjoining stall? (I’m sure that librarian would love to know her entire Beatrix Potter collection had been regularly explored by the little girl with potty hands.)

Obviously, now that I am a grown woman I realize it’s highly unlikely that that would ever really happen, but virtually all of my experiences since then have only reinforced my suspicion that public restrooms are indeed the tenth gate to hell.  Only pain and misery await you there, my friends.  Pain and misery.  Here is just one memory I have unsuccessfully tried to repress:

Once, while on a date, I returned from using the restroom with toilet paper hanging out the back of my pants.  In my defense, the stall I was in was, of course, out of toilet seat covers, and I absolutely refuse to sit on a bare public toilet (yes, I realize that a thin piece of tissue-like paper is hardly a defense against communicable diseases, but still, that 1/100th of a mm barrier somehow puts my mind at ease).  So, I draped toilet paper over the seat as I am wont to do in these situations.  I must have caught a corner of the toilet paper in my overall straps as I was pulling them up.  (Yes, I did say “overall”.  Again, in my defense, it was the late 80s and shortalls were at the height of fashion.  Shortalls with a belt, mind you–the belt was, of course, coordinated with the t-shirt I was wearing.  I believe both belt and t-shirt were teal and the whole ensemble was purchased from Wet Seal.) 

Anyways, my date was the first one to notice when I rejoined my party (we, of course, were doubling–there was no way only one person I knew would be witness to this highlight of my life).  He, being the chivalrous young man that he was (because I have always had the very best taste in members of the opposite sex *snort*) relieved me of my toilet paper tail and threw it in the nearest trash receptacle whilst laughing his @#! off.  (Which, now that I think back on it, Ewww!  My bare bum or at least upper thighs was exposed to one side of that toilet paper, and the other side was exposed to countless other bare bums and thighs of complete strangers with who knows what kind of…*shudder*…and he touched it, and I have no clear recollection of him immediately washing his hands, and I probably held his hand because I was, after all, a wanton hussy in my youth.) 

I am still completely annoyed at all those other young ladies and women in the restroom who could have alerted me to the situation before I left.  Had they no compassion?  Although, it was a theme park (in So. Cal, no less) so there was the distinct possibility of a language barrier, but I am pretty darn sure had someone attempted to pantomime that I had a train of toilet paper hanging out the back of my very adorably stylish bleached denim shortalls, I would have figured it out.  *sigh*  And obviously I don’t even use public restrooms unless absolutely necessary.  I mean, I usually have a bladder of steel–I can hold it all day if need be to avoid venturing into a public restroom.  But this was Six Flags and we’d been there all day, and I’m sorry, but the average human is just not capable of withstanding the G-forces on the Viper with a bladder full of frozen lemonades!

Topics up for discussion:  empty toilet seat cover holders–what’s that about?, public restrooms–eew, right?–like eew, your deep seeded fears–or deep seated fears?, your shining-est moments–or not

*Whaterbucket’s post here at Mormon Mommy Wars triggered my not-so-fond little memories.  Check it out.