Battle Zone

"I dropped my gift card somewhere in Target. We have to go back," boyfriend admitted in the car.

"Are you kidding me? I told you to put it in my purse so it would stop falling out of your pocket!"

"I know, but I figured after the tenth time it fell out it would stop doing it," he said, his smarts obviously out of my range of knowledge.

This was fine. I needed to go back to Target anyway. I needed to go to the bathroom and I wasn't going to sit comfortably all the way back to my house.

I needed to go two-sie.

Two-fer.

Poop.

We staggered into Target for a second time that evening (earlier I was buzzed off Uinta's Yard Sale Winter Lager and needed to walk it off) and I veered into the bathroom.

I don't understand why, but this Target always keeps it's bathroom freezing. The air is brisk. The water is practically ice. Even the air dryer shoots out arctic winds to dry your hands. Maybe you're supposed to get your blood pumping first with heavy duty shopping and cart pushing so you're prepared to venture into the frigid whiz palace?

I bent over, doing a shoe-check to make sure I was alone in the bathroom. Alas, there they were. A pair of brown suede boots. God dammit, seriously? I can't drop the kids off if someone is there with me. I go into a stall, figuring she's almost done.

I sat there, doing the mentally straining task of clenching one direction and releasing the other. You know, peeing while flexing. She was just...sitting there.

So, I just sat there as well.

And we sat there. Together. Waiting for the other person to leave.

I NEEDED TO TAKE A SHIT. I was in the middle of a shit cold war, and no one was budging.

Fine, I thought to myself, I'm going to go frickin' Poland on your ass and create a movement to "create a movement" elsewhere. GOOD DAY TO YOU.

I left, taking extra time at the air dryer to give her the cover-noise so she could "get going."

Why does this happen, ladies? Why does this happen so frequently? This is not the first time I've sat down for ages thinking, "god dammit shit or get off the can." Can't we poop together? Why do we sit on the toilet for what feels like hours, waiting for the other person to leave? We're all in this together, it's not like I wander into the bathroom, notice you're there too and say, "oh my Gorbachev what is someone else doing in here?"

Maybe one of my new year resolutions should be to get over this common poop space anxiety. Shoot the shit. So to speak.