PAINTED TOE NAILS UNDERNEATH THE BATHROOM DOOR

Shan (of "Shenanigans") was in a public bathroom the other day, minding her own business, when a lady came in and started talking to her--UNDER THE BATHROOM STALL.

"Where did you get your pedicure?" the cheeky woman asked.

Now Shan couldn't see the lady, mind you, she was...occupied and couldn't just ignore the woman and walk away. The woman wanted to know all the details about her pedicure and then told Shan that she needed a pedicure for a wedding and went on to explain who the wedding was for and blah, blah, blah. On and on she went, becoming more and more chummy.

"What did you do?" I asked, trying not to laugh as I pictured Shan, sitting there.

"What do you think I did? I freaked out! And then I finished, washed my hands and got out of there," she said.

So, if you see some of these toes underneath the bathroom door please do not carry on a chummy conversation with the owner of said toes. Freaking out is detrimental to Shan's mental health, especially in a confined space...and especially when she's busy... doing stuff.

And if you see this many toes...run. You will be outnumbered. PS Aren't these shoes cute? I don't have a pair or you would be looking at thirty toes. I should really have a pair, I really should.

PPS A woman I know was a secretary at the Utah State Mental Hospital for years and years. After she retired she was at a loss--lonely for the odd patients she saw so often.

She was back at the mental hospital the other night for a Family Home Evening. She said a man came in in jeans and a T-shirt and he looked perfectly normal so she couldn't tell if he was a patient or a worker. And then she looked closer and realized that yes, he was indeed a patient. He was wearing sandals and sticking out from his sandals were toes, painted with bright red toenail polish. She felt right at home.

MRS BIRD GETS AN EARLY START ON LEARNING TO "GO" IN ODD PLACES

Mrs. Bird was just a tiny girl when her dad started taking her and her brother fishing. Her dad was a patient man. Translation: he could sit in a boat all day, waiting for the mountain lake trout to bite. Sitting in a boat all day, with a lunch and canteens of water and, if they were lucky, some bottles of pop, made for some interesting bathroom needs. Mrs. Bird's dad and brother were equipped for easy disposal of full bladders. "Turn around," they would say to her and in half a minute, "Okay, you can turn back."

But for a little girl it was a different situation. That is why her Dad took two cans in the boat. One was full of worms and the other was empty. Mrs. Bird learned to go, even in the middle of Fish Lake.

Mrs. Bird's learned nonchalance about bathroom duties in odd places at an early age. This will help you to understand future posts about Mrs. Bird.

MRS BIRD PEES INTO A MASON JAR

I was sitting on the lawn swings, painting my fingernails, wondering how Mrs. Bird's colonoscopy went. A car drove up and it was her! She looked great. (Why didn't I run in the house and get my camera? Because I'm s-l-o-w, that's why. I just now thought of it.) Mrs. Bird is blond and was dressed all in black with a silver necklace--from Chico's, I'm thinking. She's a Chico's kind of girl. She looked fabulous.

It turns out the colonoscopy was cancelled. It took her twenty minutes to tell me why. It's scheduled for next month. There will be a story there. Stay tuned.

Then we got on the subject of the fact that there is no bathroom in the basement of her house. And then--naturally--we got on the subject of her peeing. (This is going to take several posts to tell you all her funny peeing stories so I'll start here.)

THE FULL MASON JAR IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM. This happened several years ago.

Mrs. Bird's garage is on the basement level. She bursts in the house after shopping, or doing whatever current bizarre thing she was doing, and has to go to the bathroom. She knows she will never make it upstairs so she heads for the laundry room, pulling down her pants as she goes. She grabs a wide mouth Mason jar, one she keeps just for this very purpose--she has forgotten this part of the story but it is blazed on my brain--she told me this story fifteen years ago--and I know it's true--she puts the Mason jar on the floor, squats expertly--she's had lots of practice--and pees.

She hears the back door open and close but she's busy and can't stop. Her teenage daughter passes the laundry room, does an double take, backs up and stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "What on EARTH are you doing?"

"I'm peeing."

Really, Mrs. Bird thinks, how brainless can my daughter get? Even an amoeba could see I'm peeing.

"Why?" The teenage, non-amoeba asks.

"Because I had to go and couldn't make it upstairs to the bathroom."

Just about that time, with Mrs. Bird minding her own business and with her teenage daughter butting in where she's not wanted, all of a sudden, Mrs. Bird's kidneys and bladder go into overtime and the quart Mason jar fills to the top and overflows. The astonished, yet brainless, daughter has yet another reason to think her mother is nuts.

Well, okay, Mrs. Bird is nuts but her teenage daughter shouldn't have confirmation. Luckily the daughter grew up and now knows her mom is fabulous but there for a minute, with pee puddling on the laundry room floor, trickling down the drain, well, just for a minute, her teenage daughter hoped she only got her father's genes.

DUMB INC., PART 1

Do you ever feel dumb? I'm going to make you feel better.

Last week I went to the library to check out a zillion books by Claudia Mills, who is an author who will be teaching at the BYU Writer's and Illustrators for Young Readers workshop on June 8-12, 2009. I am going to be Claudia's assistant and want to read all her books the library has. (She's a brilliant author, by the way. You should buy her books for your kids/grandkids.)

While I was at the library I needed to go to the restroom. Funny, I thought, only one stall in the restroom at the library? Surely the library is big enough to have more than one stall? And what's this? A urinal? In the women's restroom?

And then it dawned on me.

Stay tuned tomorrow for another instalment of Dumb Inc., a feature designed to make you feel better about yourself.

WHERE DO YOU GO TO HAVE SOME ALONE TIME?

Where do you go to hang out, to have some peace, some space, some alone time? Do you go onto the roof?

This youngster has the best view. He can bark at whatever he wants and knows he is safe. He even naps up here.

Where do you go? I go to the computer but the TV is on and I am--right now--listening to George, complaining about something. Seinfeld is saying, "What kind of sick person does something like that?" I don't know, Seinfeld, I just want some peace and quiet so I can write. Try to write. Okay, I want to think about writing.

The bathroom used to be a sanctuary. Every mother in the history of the world has locked herself in the bathroom. At my house, my middle child would waggle her fingers under the door and say, "Can you see my fingers, Momma?" If I ignored her she laid with her ear fused to the floor and said, "I can see your feet." If I lifted my feet off the floor she panicked and I had to put them back so she didn't think I was sucked up by the bathroom fan. Or maybe an extraterrestrial. Maybe that's why she hates Sci-Fi, my sweet happy middle child.

And yes, I could ALWAYS see her fingers. The question is, can she see her children's fingers and can they see her feet? And does it drive her crazy?

I thought so. There is justice.

A PRODUCT FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

Poo~Pourri, available here.