I struggled with the word restroom up there, because I’m still not exactly sure why it’s called a restroom. I don’t go in there to rest. Well, okay, yeah, in all fairness, if I’m taking a paid poop, I’ll sit there a little longer than necessary. And I know fancy hotels and theaters do have chaises and the like in there as well, so women could very well rest, but I’m pretty sure those exist to cater to the woman who gets the vapors and must go lie down.
Bathroom doesn’t work either, unless that giant stall on the end is harboring a clawfoot tub that no one told me about. And I hate – hate – the word lavatory. I don’t know why, but I do.
Ladies. Ladies. What the hell are you doing in there? Why do I walk into the bathroom and sometimes feel as though I’ve stumbled onto a crime scene?
Look, if you know me at all, you know there are few things in this world that gross me out, especially in regards to toilet etiquette. TP on the floor is annoying, but not really disgusting. There are things that “make me sick”, but none of them stir up any kind of ‘ick’ factor. But as a woman, I’m ashamed to admit that the byproducts of the reproductive system sometimes make me want to throw up in my mouth.
Like clots. I’m not saying any more on that.
Now, ladies, we all have that heavy flow day, sometimes right at the onset, sometimes on Day 2. And then there’s that one cycle that just kicks your ass and makes you wonder if someone is hosting a fight club all up in your lady lobby. You contemplate if you should do the tampon and pad thing. You know there’s gonna be trouble no matter what, so you dig to the back of the drawer for the undies that you’ve already destroyed. You know which ones.
However, how many of us have hemorrhaged all over walls and floors? The seat, yes, I think we’re all guilty of this, particularly if your tampon gave up on you half an hour ago and it’s all Thundercats are on the move as you drop trou and go to sit down (or hover, as discussed previously). Pretty sure we all clean up after ourselves. If you don’t, this article is for you.
But the floor? I don’t mean the floor directly in front of the toilet (because that’s still covered under seat leakage), but a solid two or three feet away, right in front of the door. Really? How did you manage this? The wall?! What matrix style moves were you performing in here?
Here’s the thing. If you sprinkle while you tinkle, please be sweet and wipe the seat. This applies double to blood – Triple! – and also to the surrounding areas. The floor, the walls, the handle, the back of the tank – seriously, what happened in here? – all need your love and attention if you’ve left your DNA on it. Imagine what could happen if someone steps in that, and then goes to commit a crime.