stall wisdom

Let's just say I'm thankful for my man having a fatter wallet than mine. By no means does it bulge outrageously from his rear, but it contains a few more spendable items than my "empty, tumbleweed blowin' across the road if you take a look down in it" wallet.

In the wake of my low funds, I've been staying home, hoarding my gas and pretending I have important things to do. Yes! I'll check my email for the hundredth time! And, have I shaved in the last couple of days? How about drinking another cup of coffee? The fire needs more tending, so I guess I'll sit here and make sure the flame doesn't go out. I keep telling myself that important famous people shave their legs and check their email too. The only difference between them and me is that they do those things in 20 minutes and I have the leisure of lathering up, checking my email, shaving my right leg, checking my email, lathering the left leg...and so on. When you get right down to it, it's a tough, jobless life I lead.

So just about the time I think my life has turned into a sock drawer color-coding hell, my man walks in the door and offers to buy dinner...out. It's been days since I've left the house for anything other than an interview and the occasional "I'll buy if you fly" errand for my folks. I was at the point of annoying myself so badly, that I was ready to start sleeping for a living just to get away from my attitude.

I accepted my man's invitation to dinner so readily and dressed so glamourously, you'd think I was one of those important famous people that could shave in 20 minutes flat. We set off to indulge in our new food fetish: hot and sour soup with a side of rice. I crave the stuff so badly now because it not only burns the roof of your mouth off, but we can both walk away with full bellies for a grand total of under $5!

We left the restaurant with our sights set on a big, sweating pint glass full of whatever's on special, of course. Promptly getting a buzz (I'm 5'1", 105 lbs. and my tolerance mimicks one of a two year old) from half of that pint glass, I excused myself to the bathroom. Aaaahhh, the ever beautiful bar bathroom that plagues the land of drinkers and daters and druggies and people who can't figure out how to flush. As I'm zipping up and flushing the toilet with the tip of my cowboy boot, I glance around at my stall full of Johnny loves Suzie's, Bush sucks slogans of one beautiful form or another and the ever expected new age lofty stuff I can never understand. There was, however, one sharpie owner that had taken some time to come up with worthwhile stall literature. She had quoted an honorable man of our history, obviously taking into account that half-drunk chicks like myself were going to take it to heart.

By the time I got back to my seat, I forgot the quote and which famous ex-president it came from, but for the half second I stood there contemplating it, my whole attitude changed. I rummaged through my purse (disappointed by my lack of a permanent writing utensil) in hopes that I could spontaneously come up with a quote that would change people's lives forever. This wasn't my first brush with loo wisdom, but it sure as hell put my mundane and somewhat annoying past couple of days into perspective. It was just what I needed.

I spent so long in the bathroom, floored by this quote, that when I returned to get trashed on the last half of my one beer, my man asked if everything was ok down there. "Yeah," I answered, instead of standing on the bar shouting... OF COURSE I'M OK! I WAS JUST LIBERATED BY THE BATHROOM STALL!