I took a tumble.
On Tuesday I worked from a cafe I had never frequented before. After copious beverages had expanded my stomach into a beach ball, I got up to find the restroom.
The door to the restroom was in plain sight to nearly every patron in the establishment, numbering about 8. There was a sign on the door that I glanced at briefly to determine that it was a bathroom I was entering. Only, as I pushed the door inward to open, I saw another door to my right, half opened, with a urinal inside.
Oh my! I thought. This is not where I’m supposed to be.
Instinctively I looked upwards to my left to double-check that the sign on the door I was currently pushing forward with my left hand was definitely a sign for the ladies restroom. At which point I took a step back, causing me to trip over an undetected ledge and fall, in slow motion, onto my tush, right in the stall containing the urinal.
My legs flew up into the air, as they would because this is like the second time this year that I’d worn a skirt. [The first time being the day before, same skirt, no tumbles.] Toward all the cafe’s patrons, OF COURSE. The best part was, I was wedged between BOTH doors, the entry door and the stall door, so it took a grueling 20 seconds to get myself out. On top of all this, I had to pee almost uncontrollably.
On the bright side, I was able to see from the floor that I was, indeed, in the right place and this was a unisex bathroom.
I crawled my way out, expecting someone to rush forward with a hand out, ready to help me up. Negative. Once I got my damn self to my feet, I walked inside (with more grace), and let the entry door slam behind me. After the deed was done, I washed my hands and stared at myself in the mirror, half frozen, with a bomb of laughter in my chest creeping toward explosion.
I tousled my hair for volume and walked back out into the world. OBVIOUSLY I was embarrassed. But the debacle was so funny that, in a way, I was looking forward to my re-entrance into society so we could all, I don’t know, chuckle together?
Except no one looked up. Everyone was glued to either their phone or their computer.
I went back to my “desk” and relayed the story to my friend Lu over Whatsapp, giggling until tears started streaming down my face, while everyone continued to ignore me.
This is why I love the aging process. Ten years ago I would have diedif someone locked eyes with me after such a crippling incident. Now that I am a few weeks shy of my big 4-0, I was kind of disappointed that no one felt inclined to acknowledge the absurdity of it all.
Everyone says once you hit your 40s you care less. I’m happy to report it seems to be true.
Forty is freedom.
With love,
Bethany
