Dear Backroads Miz Manners,
A curious thing happened to me today at work. Let me set the stage for you. Our restroom is designed for an occupancy of one. It is fully compliant with all differently-abled laws. There is a sign on the wall by the door that labels it Women's Restroom. Braille is included. The door is wooden, heavy, and designed to swing closed. There is enough room inside to set up a small desk and use it for an office, if a gal was so inclined. Or to stand twenty close personal friends for an audience. Plenty of room for a wheelchair to park while restroom business is being done. And there's a long, sturdy rail the length of the wall beside the toilet. The door handle is of the lever variety. To insure privacy, the door locks with a deadbolt.
Each day as I push open the door and step inside that gloriously private restroom, I do a 180 and snap that deadbolt lever the instant the door settles into its notch. A moment too soon, and the deadbolt will stop the door from closing, emitting a heavy-duty clank. A moment too late, and the door necessitates a minor reversal, a pulling back, to line up the deadbolt with its receptacle. Yet I have consistently mastered the unseen ballet. Until today.
Herein lies The Curious Incident of the Hag in the Daytime. I pirouetted as per usual. Only to feel the sharp bite of wood on my nether regions. How could that be?
Signed,
Betrayed By My Own Butt Cheeks
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Dear Betrayed,
I am inclined to suspect that this incident is not so curious at all. No doubt you have just returned to work after the holidays. Holidays during which you overindulged, perhaps, in Chex Mix and Jelly Sticks and gas station chicken and Little Debbie Cakes.
Do you own a full-length mirror? Or have friends who do? Or live near a calm lake or gigantic puddle? A look at your reflection might solve the mystery. If, for instance, your buttocks appear to be two Texas-size cinnamon rolls fighting with each other as you walk...you have your answer.
Drop your cakes and grab your weights. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way in.
Signed,
Backroads Miz Manners
6 comments:
We're often betrayed by someone ( or in your case something) close to us.
just one more reason to hate the holidays.
The cinnamon rolls is the first stage. The next stage is the "two puppies fighting in a pillowcase" stage.
BMM--I think you misadvised "Betrayed." The bathroom could have been renovated, which would make it APPEAR she had gained weight but instead, the configuration of the room had changed.
No reason to get her into panic mode until the matter is thoroughly checked out.
And speaking of cinnamon rolls, I think I'll fire up the oven now...
Stephen,
Ain't it the truth?
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Kathy,
That. And people who complain that I win too many games and prizes at the family Christmas parties.
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Sioux,
Enough of this "renovation" parlance. That's what I've heard about the Sonic that closed, the two Seven-11s that closed, the Casey's General Store that turned up locked on Monday, and now THIS, the work restroom. IT HAD BETTER NOT TURN UP CLOSED IN A COUPLE OF DAYS!
Came by way of Sioux - obviously haven't read ALL of your blogs, but you have a fun style!
Lynn,
Thank you, that's good to hear. My husband tells me I'm not as funny as I think I am. And I have a feeling he's not referring to the blog.
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