We’ve all been there. In line at DMV, on a bad date, sitting in a friend’s solo show. Where you can feel life ebbing by and you are trapped. You have to stay, you can’t go. You can feel your mortality dripping away like a tipped over, open jar of honey. But, you must stay. For the license, to be polite, see your friend cry and take their shirt off.
A moment where you say “I want this time back.” As a friend recently quipped to me, “Add it to the list.” Is there a list? Yes, I think there is. Here is one for the list.
Standing in a public restroom while my son does his business. I’ve tried to install a phobia of public bathrooms in my kids, but so far only Vivien has caught the anxiety. Rex will announce it’s time to go no matter what the digs are like.
Me: “Dude, wait till we get home. It’s going to be nasty.”
“No, I have to go NOW.”
This is partly why I recently hosted Vivien’s entire class for a party. If I didn’t I know we would have ended up in Bronson Canyon Park. I have a clause in my parenting contract, “No Bronson Canyon Park.” I blew off Rex’s school social because that’s where it was. The parking is bad, bees gather on the potluck food and worst of all it doesn’t have working toilets. Only porta potties. My kids know, run to the car. We are out of here. How it has become the favorite potluck park for the 323 area code I have no idea.
So, Rex and I find the funky stores, funky bathroom. Honestly, I’ve been in a lot worse. But, it was made worse because the toilet had one of those sensors so just when he would be mid business the thing would “Whoosh” like a jet engine. So it elongated the process.
“Mama, why is it doing that? Stop it.”
Helpless “I can’t!” Yes, I know the trick with the post it note, but I didn’t have one.”
It was here as I waited that I thought, look at my life at this minute. I want this time back. Wiping the little bottom, no prob. I don’t mind that. But, could we do it at the Ritz?