Dave and I took some time off work and traveled to North Carolina to visit one of Dave's best friends since, like, forever. He's married and has cute kids and we had a blast. His wife is the best, they showed us a great time, and we didn't want to leave. They even let Pixie join us, so as to avoid five days stuck in a jail cell... I mean kennel... at the vet's office, and really, that sealed their deal as favorites in my book.
On the way home, we had a lay-over in Chicago. The events, as I recall them:
*I really have to go.
*I enter the bathroom stall expecting to have to cover my seat with a flimsy paper toilet seat cover, thereby adding additional agonizing moments before sweet release.
*In front of my wondering eyes did appear a Sani-Seat Cover!
*Though never having seen one before, I instantly understand that this plastic-wrapper-genius-creation covering the toilet seat automatically switches you to a fresh cover when the automatic flusher flushes for the previous occupant.
*I plop upon it with lightening speed.
*The seat feels a tad warm. Not ideal, but I feel so good and safe with my personalized plastic wrapper that I can be nothing less than thrilled.
*I think kind thoughts about genius inventors and their advanced tushy-safety measures.
* I stand and turn to appreciate this modern bathroom miracle, catching sight of the tiny instruction manual off to the side, in no good spot for viewing.
*Bathroom manual clearly states that to advance the new plastic cover, one must wave one's hand in front of a censor first.
*Shock and horror render me frozen for horrifying moments of germ-infested daymares.
*I stumble from the bathroom in newly-infected delirium, moaning to Dave of my tragedy, trying not to gag, and delivering occasional punches in response to occasional bursts of heartless laughter.