Lessons Learned and Ladies Rooms

                  “What if I don’t know what one of my cards means?” My mom inquired, as we sat down to play a family game of ‘Cards Against Humanity’ each armed with a ‘non’ alcoholic beverage (not thinking that ‘non’ was the case, but whatever).

                “Urban dictionary it mom.”  My sister states.  I love that urban dictionary started as a website and by all intents and purposes was classified as a noun, it has now morphed into a verb, like google. 

                “Well what is the word mom?  Maybe I know what it means.”  I’m trying to be ‘helpful’, but I’m certain that not only is it 99% likely that I know the meaning, but it’s an equal percentage that I probably don’t want to be the one to define it for my mother.  After she flashed me her card it was clear that I was indeed correct on both points.  Well shit.  Lesson learned.  If you don’t feel comfortable providing a definition to your mom, don’t bring it up in her presence.  This is a lesson I will most likely never really get a grasp on (no worries on hiding your own mothers, I only have this verbal vomiting with my own mother.  You’re welcome mom!)

                “I’ll be right back niecey.  Aunt Angie has to run to the restroom, and by run I mean sprint because there’s good chance that I may not make it in time.”  (Speaking of yourself in third person to small children does no real good.  It just seems the only true time in real life to use third person without sounding like a huge dick bag.)

                “Oh, well if you don’t want to walk all the way to the potty you can always take this out into the woods and go in it.”  With a serene and serious, devoid of the eventual sarcasm that all in my family possess at some point, smile she extends her hand, in it a doggie ‘business’ bag.  It’s purple, logically. 

                ‘”But I just have to go number one.” was clearly the appropriate response.

                “That’s fine, it’s not just for poop.”  This last line came with a little turn and mimed demonstration, complete with a bounce and then dropped the bag right into my hand.  Oooookkkkay then.  Lesson learned.  A five year old is the master at procuring a temporary potty, even if it’s indecent exposure by some state laws.  I suppose when you’re only a few years removed from just going whenever the mood strikes you and then that transforms into the ‘get a treat for bodily functions’ year, it’s easily to feel that taking care of business in a one gallon purple baggie isn’t such a bad plan.  I kept the baggie, just in case.  

 

                “Look mom, I don’t mind going into the men’s room alone during the day, but at night it really gives me the creeps.  Someone drew a faceless face in the first stall and I just don’t feel comfortable after dark being in there long enough to change and brush my teeth.  If there is no one else in the lady’s room, can’t I just come in with you and Grammy?”  My son pleaded as we prepared ourselves for another night in a tent.

                “Well honey, I don’t see anything wrong with that if there’s no one in there.” My mom stated and I concurred her opinion.  At twelve my son is right over the cusp of being 'ok' to be in the lady’s room.  Under nonfiction circumstances, like the grocery or target or school, there’s NO WAY I’d find it acceptable.  Yet something about being in a campground after dark and all logic was thrown to the wind.

                I checked the coast, and while it wasn’t completely clear, there were no women in the immediate vicinity so we sneaked ('snuck' is not a real word, I always thought it was until this week when my mind was blown by that knowledge) the boy in.  After entering we realized the both of the shower stalls at the end of the row were occupied, (I should preface this with the fact that the showers were stalls with an area to dress in.  It was not a large community shower room filled with nozzles and steam and naked women.)  Seeing as how usually females shower for an extended period of time and we were only looking at 5 to 10 minutes to complete our nightly mission of tooth brushing, contact removing and face washing we figured that there would be plenty of time to get in and get out before anyone was the wiser about the fact that a male had breached the women’s room boundary.  Alex, looked around with a wide eyed look of one having opened Pandora’s box and shuffled quickly into the first bathroom stall (clearly different equipment than the shower ones at the end).  He went to work changing into his nighttime garb of sweatpants and a hoodie, his silence for once can only be interpreted as reverence.  Mom and I went about our rituals at a quickened pace when suddenly both shower takers finished up.  We did not expect that the teenage girls would be quick change artists and they both emerged before I could collect my preteen son and mosey on out.

                ‘I have soooo many layers on.’

                “Oh my god so do I.  I have three shirts on and two pairs of pants.”

                ‘I’m wearing two pairs too!  One is like a legging and the other more like a sweat pant.’

                “Yeah, and for shirts I’ve got on a tank top, a long sleeved and then this sweatshirt.  Do you think we’ll be cold?”

                ‘Oh I think we’ll be fine tonight, we’re both wearing a lot of layers.’

                As this very current event filled conversation flooded the bathroom I quietly in more of an Austin Powers type more than James Bond-like, retrieved my kid, flipped up his hood and walked him outside.  Relieved that we weren’t busted I immediately started laughing.

                “So is that REALLY what girls talk about when boys aren’t around?  How many clothes they’re wearing?” He said practically aghast as all of his hope and dreams were washed right down the drain of an insect infested campground bathroom. 

                “Yes son, that’s really what girls talk about.”

                Lesson learned.  Contrary to what visions of the ‘forbidden land’ my preteen son had, that women’s restrooms are simply fraught with topless ladies busy fondling each other/themselves in front of mirrors while simultaneously reciting Roman gods in alphabetical order and interesting facts about ancient Egyptians (he’s into anthropologist stuff right now, don’t judge), this is simply not the case.  I almost regret the whole experience because of the despondency in his voice when he stepped out of the sacred Land of the Ladies with his boobie colored glasses shattered, knowing that girls really just talk about what they’re wearing.  Almost.