I don't really use the word "potty." I'm an old guy. But since I think it's funny, I guess I'm still an eleven year old at heart.
Okay, baring my soul here.
Last Christmas, I was at my in-laws. I always eat well there. Too much. They're great cooks and even better in-laws. But I was in the bathroom paying the consequences.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. I froze, all bodily functions shutting down. Fleeting images of how to maintain cool (something I'm not overly familiar with) ran through my brain, sorta' like the cliché of when you're dying and images of loved ones flash through your mind. But this situation was WAY worse. My tongue turned into a bloated slug, words couldn't form. Not knowing what to do or say, I felt caught in the act of something heinous. Behind enemy lines, I wasn't on my home-friendly throne.
Finally, I came up with, "Who is it?"
Okay. It wasn't really what I meant to say. But I have my pants down around my ankles, feeling very vulnerable and exposed. There's a thin door separating me from whoever was lurking outside. And the last thing I wanted to do was become embroiled in a conversation. "Sure, come on in, pop a squat, drop trow if you're thusly inclined, don't be embarrassed just 'cause I'm bare-assed, sorry for the smell, some weather we're having lately, huh?"
"Who is it?" Was that really the best thing I could come up with? Dumb. Did I really care? No. I just wanted to be left in peace. I was buying time, hoping the intruder would go away along with the fumes. He/she/the fumes didn't. They were still lurking outside the door.
Time shut down. Silence. Breathing beyond the door. Waiting. I was trapped. No easy exit. They knew what I was up to. Should I come clean, flush, wash, smile and wave when I brush by the bathroom raider(s)? No way. That's the road to humiliation.
So I'm writing this from my inlaw's bathroom. Been here a while.