Women are gross.
I know that sounds odd coming from a woman, but I am NOT one of them.
Those women are the prissy, pampered, dressed to the nines type women that wander about this earth in their fancy jewelry, tastefully elegant suits and wicked high heels. Their make up makes them look like a china doll. Of course, they have the delicious scent that trails behind them as they briskly stride through the world that awaits them. Right.
Check any public restroom that they have been in and you would find complete and utter devastation behind. Enter one of these restrooms and you would swear that a pack of wild animals had just exited. Counter tops are strewn with used towels, discarded makeup wipes and brushes. You will notice that nearly the entire surface is covered with water. You may find used floss, waded up paper notes, or tissues with lipstick. A veritable treasure for someone looking for DNA. Unfortunately, it would be leftovers from many women.
The floors contain the excess that could not be tossed onto the counter top.
I am positive that their homes and offices are so pristine, but let them into a public restroom and then turn into slovIenly pigs. You will find paper towels on the floor, the counter tops littered with used tissues, soap sprays, water flung about, toilet tissue strewn about are just a few of the sights you will see.
The grossest sight of all? The throne. Sometimes the throne will have things that should have flushed down. Some came from human and some is trash. Some of it, well, I have to stop this description now. It is making me ill.
Suffice it to say that for some of us anal (pardon the pun) people, we have these routines that we follow in the bathroom. It starts by trying to find a stall that is not gross when you open the door. Not finding that, it is finding the least gross one. The ideal stall is the one that you can cover the toilet seat or at least wipe it down with toilet paper.
That little trick has two benefits: one you are cleaning the seat before your use and the second is that you KNOW now that there IS toilet paper.
All the best planning in the world will not save you from everything, though. So here I sit, gratefully dealing with the call of nature. Internally, I want to sigh with relief. But relief is short lived.
There, about three inches from my foot is a drop of blood. Dear god, don’t tell me that someone couldn’t control their menstrual cycle. Then I notice that there is another drop about two inches away from the first, about five or six inches from my right foot.
Now I begin scanning the floor for more. I find a third spot. The three seem to form a straight line. I am repulsed but at the same time somewhat curious. The drops are about the size of a dime. I continue to scan the floor around me but am unable to find more drops.
Mentally I add the drops to my gross bathroom list and switch back to thinking about the weather that we had briefly escaped to make this stop. My husband and I are driving back from Chicago only to find a snow storm waiting for us at the Iowa border. In the first twenty miles back in the state, the roads go from dry to several inches of snow.
As much as I really would rather we not drive in the treacherous conditions, I really just want to get home to my own bed. I can only hope we will drive out of it.
As I finish my task and exit the stall to check the gross conditions of the sink area, I am unpleasantly surprised to see more drops. Now they are not in a straight line, but seem to be spread out across the floor. Throughly disgusted now, I step back and consider just leaving without washing my hands when I notice there is a pattern to the drops. They spell a word. Help.
With freshly washed hands, I hurriedly exit the bathroom, not taking the time to dry my hands. I quickly make my way out to the car that we left at the gas pump, pleased to find my husband, Rick, has the car running. I will not be cold long.
As I open the door to our van, I begin, “You will not believe what I saw.” I trailed off as I saw a face in the back seat.
“We really appreciate this, ma’am,” said the scruffy man in the back seat. He appeared to be in his early twenties. “My wife and I really appreciate the fact that you and your husband are going to drop us off in Iowa City.”
I looked quizzically at my husband. “These people are desperately trying to get to the hospital, honey. Her mother is dying and they are trying to get to her bedside before she passes on. Their car is one of those that was in the ditch a few miles back.”
I smiled weakly at my husband and our guests. “Hopefully we can get you there soon,” I say.
“At least we will be warm. My name is Kevin by the way and this is my wife Sandy,” he said. “Sandy, say hello,” he said.
I looked at his wife and saw a very young woman. I found it hard to believe that she could be anyone’s wife. She looked more like she was about thirteen.
“Um, hello,” she almost whispered. Her voice did not add any years to my estimate.
As I was about to turn around to face the windshield, I noticed she brushed the hair back from her eyes, with her right hand. Her bandaged right hand.