TMI?
Why would you want to read the following? I don't know that you do. But you might.
Why would I want to write it? It's more a have-to kind of thing:
There I was, on my hike, the one I take almost every day. I'd had my coffee a little closer than usual to hike-time, and so, feeling a need to jettison some of said coffee, I cut into the park near our house to find a bathroom.
There are two bathroom buildings in our park. I've always wondered why; it's not that big a park. I circled the first. I know there are Men's and Women's rest rooms in that structure, but I only saw the entrance to the Women's. And the need was...intensifying. So I cut to the back of the park, where I was certain there was a Men's.
There was. I entered, and in blissful, midday solitude, commenced relief operations. And I was maybe halfway through--mulling the next chapter of the new MOTHERLESS CHILDREN book, muttering happily to myself, the way I do--when the black drain plug at the bottom of the urinal humped up on its long, hairy tarantula legs and scuttled.
It went sideways first. Fortunately. Scrambled an impressive distance up the steel side of the urinal before sliding back down. By the time it turned and came my way, I was already stumbling from the enclosure, chanting the SoCal resident's tarantula catechism: they're not interested in us. They don't hurt us.
Except by surfacing in my brain, every time I go to pee, for the rest of my life...
Why would I want to write it? It's more a have-to kind of thing:
There I was, on my hike, the one I take almost every day. I'd had my coffee a little closer than usual to hike-time, and so, feeling a need to jettison some of said coffee, I cut into the park near our house to find a bathroom.
There are two bathroom buildings in our park. I've always wondered why; it's not that big a park. I circled the first. I know there are Men's and Women's rest rooms in that structure, but I only saw the entrance to the Women's. And the need was...intensifying. So I cut to the back of the park, where I was certain there was a Men's.
There was. I entered, and in blissful, midday solitude, commenced relief operations. And I was maybe halfway through--mulling the next chapter of the new MOTHERLESS CHILDREN book, muttering happily to myself, the way I do--when the black drain plug at the bottom of the urinal humped up on its long, hairy tarantula legs and scuttled.
It went sideways first. Fortunately. Scrambled an impressive distance up the steel side of the urinal before sliding back down. By the time it turned and came my way, I was already stumbling from the enclosure, chanting the SoCal resident's tarantula catechism: they're not interested in us. They don't hurt us.
Except by surfacing in my brain, every time I go to pee, for the rest of my life...
No comments have been added yet.
