Mrs. Yoy and The Bare Feet
I returned home from a trip to LA (of course you already know this as it is all I've talked about for the past month) this evening. Flying time was about 4 hours each way.
I'm proud to announce I was able to hold my bladder both there and back. Yes, I did not partake in the airplane bathroom. Remember, I've birthed two kids, my bladder is shot to hell, but my anti-plane bathroom feelings run deep.
I am a nervous flyer anyway, so the thought of sitting on a plane toilet, without being seat belted in, gives me heart palpitations.
So, I'm half doing my sudoku book and half watching as my fellow passengers wait in the business class aisle to use the bathroom.
Up walks a woman. She leans on the seat in front of me and gives me what I'd like to call a tuchus shot. (Thanks for that!)
I'm irritated by this woman and her tuchus. I must be crazy to pay extra so people can hover about my seat.
I glance down and notice something very troublesome.
It was her feet. It's not that they were gnarly or warty or anything of notice. But, they were free.
That's right readers, this lady was about to go barefoot into a bathroom. Not just any bathroom, not even just any public restroom. But an airplane bathroom.
When you combine men using a toilet with unexpected turbulence, you get a 0% chance of having a clean floor.
Are you THAT lazy that you can't slide on your shoes? Has it come to this?
I wanted to poke her butt, point down at her feet, and give her a tsk, tsk, tsk.
Of course, I didn't. I just closed my eyes and pretended I didn't see it. I can't be everyone's mother.