The other night I played on a Scrabble team. I know, try and hold back your awe at my hipness. One of Sean’s clients signed his business up as a team for a Scrabble for Literacy fundraiser, so we did – despite the fact that Sean and I have not played Scrabble together in well over a year because somebody thinks somebody is a cheater (apparently being better than me at singing, playing innumerable musical instruments, drawing, painting and taking pictures isn’t enough, to lose to me at Scrabble is more insult than he can bear…some time ago the Scrabble game was “lost”).
I arrived late after what was not a shining moment of motherhood – Picture the scene:
I had to be to the venue by 5:30 with a t-shirt for Sean
I had to drop the girls at my mother-in-law’s between 5:10 and 5:20
I had to work until 5:00pm
Avery did not go down for her nap until 4:15pm
My boss kept me on the phone and on task until 5:00pm
Briar wet her diaper
Avery did not want to wake up
The dog would not come in
Briar didn’t want her diaper changed
Avery was clingy
I realized we had just 5 diapers left
Avery emptied an entire bookshelf while I changed Briar(4 diapers)
Briar scolded Avery repeatedly and loudly
The dog still wouldn’t come in
Avery peed through her outfit (3 diapers)
Briar removed her ponytails
The dog came in and promptly pissed on the floor
Avery crawled through said piss in her fresh outfit (2 diapers)
Made it out the door, forgot the shirt
Got the shirt forgot the diaper bag
Got Avery buckled in, worked on Briar and was 5 minutes late
Phone rings – Sean
Curt, bitchy, awful and immediately remorseful. But damnit, why call when odds are I am in an impossible situation?
Got to MIL’s and just tried not to cry as I explained I was shamelessly low on diapers, had not packed dinner, had woken Avery from her nap prematurely, and would not return until after their bedtime
Did I mention there was yelling, an f-bomb and borderline tears? (not at my mother-in-laws, it was before but I had to explain why Briar might utter any number of four letter words ending in ‘uck’, ‘it’ or a series of other biblically influenced expletives.
So when I got to the Scrabble thing I wasn’t too interested when I was handed a couple of sticky things to put on my shirt to look like a part of a team. What I was interested in was an uninterrupted trip to the bathroom with an opportunity to oh, I don’t know, pee the pee I’d been wanting to pee since before noon. I arrived at the door to the ladies room at the same time as two women. I let them pass and they immediately went over to the mirror. Great. I can just pee I thought.
I took the second stall. Boom, in like .32 seconds one of the woman swished into the stall next to me before I even sat down. I tried to get comfortable and ignore having her there.
“Is the letter ‘cuz it’s Scrabble night?”
“Your “y”, is it ‘cuz you’re Scrabbling tonight? “
Oh, god, I think she’s talking to me. “Ah, what’s that?”
“Your “y” is it for Scrabble?”
“Yep, sure is.”
Then quiet but for the rustling of paper.
Ok, no more talking. pee, pee, pee. Just wanna pee. I cannot pee. I am burning. I have to pee. I must. Shh, breathe, you are all alone.
“Oh, (odd nasally laugh) did you even know you were “y”?
What the hell, lady? Let me pee.
“Yes, I did.” This was said with great finality.
“OK ‘cuz I wouldn’t want to mess that up. Why is it a “y”?
“Not a problem.” She stopped. I listened as she flushed her toilet. Phew, now I’ll be able to pee.
She’s talking again, no fair. She probably peed a dozen times today.
“Your “y”, what’s it for?” She asked this while she peed. While she PEED!
“Oh, I think It’s for jury.”
“Hmmm, jury? Interesting.” Then she laughed as her toilet flushed.
I finally peed the tiniest bit, not nearly accomplishing what I had
hoped needed to do, and worse still what I did pee fell on top of paper so there was silence, like I was that woman who pretends she’s not there because she wants to poop but doesn’t want anyone to know. You know that person, you’re like I know you’re in there, and you know I know you’re in there, so why not stop the charade. Your print rayon gaucho pants are pooled so wide I actually had to side step them as I came in.
After my disappointing stealth pee that wasn’t I gave up and stood to leave. As I walked out of the booth little Miss Chatty von Peesa’lot opened her door at the exact same time. I paused as it flew perilously close to my face. Then I stepped forward and inexplicably she stepped to the left and blocked me from the sink that kind of went with my stall. Fine, it’s not like I peed. I moved to the corner to the last sink and washed my hands as she walked away. In what must have been a choreographed move, her friend popped in and swang wide the door to the first stall effectively blocking me from both drying my hands and leaving. You know what she did then? Guess. Come on.
She peed with the door open. Seriously.
Psssssssss. Tinkle tinkle. Psssssssss. Flush. Zip. I stood in disbelief.
“Oh. I’m sorry, did I block you?”
I stood mute because the only word I seemed to know in that moment in time was was not nice and rhymed with stitch.