Somethin' Bad's Goin' Down at the Marriott

Yep, here we are again. If you are unsure what I'm referring to check back to the post about Chang's. You'll catch on.
At this point you may be asking yourself why I have to go to the bathroom at all hours of the day, all places around town, all the time. I don't know. I just know it happens. I am getting older and my back is holding up. My knees seem to be steady. I don't see tons of wrinkles just yet. So my lot in life seems to be a case of Irritable Bowel. And yes, I have been to the doctor and have asked him - point blank - to diagnose me with this, but he refuses. He says I eat crap. (Note to self: Find better doctor.)

So Saturday night the Attorney General and I go out. He lets me pick the movie, I let him pick the resteraunt. Though I will state for the record, if I pick a movie he doesn't like he still goes. If he picks a resteraunt I don't like I make a really bad face, and then turn and look out the window and hum. He knows what that means...by his fifth suggestion I am usually in agreement.
So on Saturday night we go to a new place, a cool place, a cozy, tucked away little place. We order an appetizer - it's fried. Then I order my dinner - it's fried. My side item is even (you guessed it) - fried. Hey! I ordered water. Get off my back.

We had not soon left the parking lot that I had him make an immediate left turn.
AG: Into the Marriott?
Me: Yes, into the Marriott?
AG: (Mishchevious giggle and smirk) Did you get us a room?
Me: Would you stop it? I'm already sick.
AG: Hey....
Me: Seriously babe, turn in and just keep driving. I'm going to throw open my door and hurl myself out at the first door I see. Don't even bother to stop.
AG: Are you...
And I do, in fact, hurl my door open and run to the nearest opening.

I'm thinking to myself "Dear Lord in heaven, please help me find the nearest bathroom" and suddenly I see it.
Follow up prayer, "Sweet Lord, I have served you faithfully. Please don't let there be a single soul in that bathroom. For my good peace of mind and for their own."
I go in.
Obviously I have not served as faithfully as I should have.

For what do my eyes behold? But a pagent competition for 3yr olds through high school. And where were they all getting ready? You guessed it.

After making my way through the fog of Rave Hairspray and Teen Spirit deodarant (aerosol of course...these girls obviosuly do not stand on the platform of "going green") I find...guessed it right again, stall #3. Now this momentous occasion was not fraught with the comings and goings, like at Chang's. No, no, this occasion was met with 25 girls and their stage-moms locked down in the bathroom and they weren't going anywhere until the glitter was on and the sash in place.

"Dear God, just take me now" (I whispered this. But He couldn't hear me due to the 8 year old practicing "How Great Thou Art" at the top of her lungs.)

And so to make my long and painful story short, here is what I overheard as I sat, miserably, terrifyingly, painfully alone. In stall #3.

"Sasha, if you don't hold still these will fall out of place."

"Mom, will my arms look like yours when I'm older?"
"I hope not."
"Me too. You know something can be done about those nowadays."

"Do ya'll smell that?"

"Are you wearing fake eyelashes?"
"I don't know....mom, am I wearing fake eyelashes?"
"Yes, of course you are. Becasue your only 9 and you don't have fully developed eyelashes yet."

"What is that smell mom? I think I'm going to throw up on my baton."
"I don't know, it smells like your daddy in here all of a sudden."

Again, I pray, "For the Love of God and all that is Holy, please blow your trumpet now and let's end this thing."

"Mom, it isn't high enough. It isn't high enough. It isn't high enough."
"Here, I'll try and put it up one more time."
"Mom, it's too high."

"Has anybody seen my left boot?"
"Your left boob?"
"That too." (Hilarity ensues...for like, 8 minutes.)

David texts me..."Are you okay? I just saw three little girls come outside the building crying. Is there a talent competition in there? Are you making little kids cry?"

"Ya'll, Cami can't find her mom."
"That might be her in the last stall down there...are you Cami's mom?" (They yell at me. I HATE talking when I'm in the stall.)
"No, I'm not Cami's mom."
(They whisper) "I think that's Mary Taylor's grandma, look at her shoes."

Okay, sick or not. I'm outta here. As I go to flush I hear, "...how great thou art, how great thou art." I walk out and wash my hands. They all stare at me. I tell the singer she sounds good.
"Really?" She says
"Yes" I say, proud that she is kind and respectful. And hoping she wins.

And as the door goes to shut behind me, if I'm lyin' I'm dyin', that same sweet child says,
"What does she know? Somebody light a match."
Hilarity ensues.