This one time, at my wedding....

......I had on a seven skirt dress and I had to go!

As a bride I had a variety of highly exciting contingency plans for possible emergency situations on my wedding day.  In fact, with a helicopter at my disposal, some rope, a stick of chewing gum and a couple of eighties action television heroes, I think I could have been prepared for EVERY contingency.  Because I am just that thorough.

For serious.

Anyway, that said, there was one thing I truly had not prepared for.  It had never occurred to me that this might happen.  Yet it did.  I was forced to keep calm and bridal on as I searched my mind, the room at large, and my sense of etiquette dignity for the answer.

Here’s how it went down:  after husband and wife-ing it down the aisle and into the reception I had a large quantity of time in which many people were greeted and hugs were administered and offers of a drink came a-plenty but said drink never materialized.  Then, all at once, it was like all the different drink offers ARRIVED.  I had multiple glasses of water and I drank a lot of them.  A lot.

When I realized I needed to visit the ladies room I calmly searched for my mother and/or sister as I had on a 7 skirt-dress and this was clearly going to be a two-person affair.  No fears, I’m quite comfortable with my mother and my sister.  Unfortunately they were MOA.  In fact, they were MOA with my purse, phone, bouquet and chapstick, but I digress.

With no means of calling them to see where they had vanished off to I found myself in a serious predicament.  Just who the hell was I comfortable taking into the ladies room with me?

Suddenly I was scanning the room with the worlds most judgmental eyes, re-assessing everyone I had ever known and loved.  Would I take them into a bathroom stall with me?

It divided pretty evenly actually into either “No.”  “Absolutely not.” or “HELL NO!”

I tried to wait it out, I really did.  But all that water, everyone looking so happy that they were the one that got me the one thing I needed on my big day.  I had to drink it all.  

Finally my eyes lighted on the one person I decided it was ok to ask:  my step-sister.  Happily she seemed totally unfazed by this request (later she advised me that copious amounts of alcohal had further engendered this sisterly love)  Extra happily nothing crazy happened.  Having Mr. T stationed at the door might have been nice though.  I enjoy the mental image of him telling guests who wanted entry to the ladies room, “I PITY THE FOOL THAT BOTHERS THE BRIDE”  wahaha.

Anyway.

Later my step-sis tells me, she casually mentioned being my bathroom savior to my father who nearly spat out his drink and said intensely, “OH MY GOD!  She let you go to the bathroom with her?  You are her TRUE FRIEND!”

I’m still half-impressed, half-horrified that my Dad remembers this about me.  You see, when I was 5 a very long road trip with no rest stops ended with my mother taking me into a field on the side of the road.  I was in serious pain.  Still, there was absolutely no way I was going in a field.  My mother still remembers this clearly (so does my Dad I guess).  I marched back to the car and waited until a proper bathroom was available.

I do like a proper bathroom.  I mean, who doesn’t?  

I remember seriously dreading the outhouse at my grandfather’s cottage in the summertime.  That thing blew away in a storm and he and my grandmother ROWED OUT TO RETRIEVE IT.  To this day is stands on that hill, with barnacles on it from its time at sea.

And I will never forget the first time I saw a squatter in Korea.  I thought someone had torn out the plumbing from the stall.  I still don’t know how those work.  And you know, I only spoke like 3 words of Korean the first time that happened, but I managed to make it clear I would NOT be using that particular stall, thank you very much.

Perhaps your are thinking to yourself that my desire for quality plumbing probably inhibits my true enjoyment of adventure travel.  You are right.  (and what isn’t covered by plumbing, is heartily embraced by insects)

But ultimately the bottomline is this:  whatever your feelings on the quality of the bathroom you prefer, needing to reach out for help from that particular level of privacy means questioning the true level of trust you have in those close to you.  (Also, you might want to consider the rational logistics of the ladies room when picking out your dress - or at least have some kind of MacGyver like clippy-thing to pin it up with.)

Just another unexpected re-evaluation of relationships that came from the happenstansical nature of all that is wedding.