Yesterday, we were at a hospital for tests (no worries, everything is fine).

We were there, basically, all day.  And walking from hell and back because, of course, the tests were in the middle of the facility, the blood draw was at one end of the facility, and the NP’s office was at the whole other end.  Thank goodness for my Aquaflex classes.  This would have killed me last year – or at least left me in a whole lot of pain, not to mention adding a significant amount of time to the whole thing while I dragged my fat old lady ass around.

Being somewhere all day is, at some point, going to entail using a bathroom.

I was so pleased to find, near the blood draw, that the bathroom was a unisex one-seater.  Great!  Everybody welcome.  Because a person who needs to pee or poop needs a bathroom – no matter what else is going on in their panties. 

Fast forward to second visit to a restroom.  In I go.  Not a thought in my fat old lady head except the business at hand.  Didn’t even occur to me that this was a multi-seater; I’m thinking how this is a progressive kind of place and that pleases me so much.  As I’m leaving, I see a single small urinal tucked away in a corner.  Hmmmm.  I guess not everybody wants to use a stall.

I exit.  Find my dear husband.  He asks, “Did you just come out of the men’s room?”

Ummmmmmm.  Yeah?  I guess so. 

What can I say?  At least I didn’t embarrass anyone other than myself.  I didn’t even get the chance to make a new friend.