A Visit from Princess Peepee


Hello Blog, long time no see – well, write. November has been a very busy month, and I’ve neglected my writing here. On the other hand, I completed NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writing Month) by writing 50,000 words of a novel in November. Woo-hoo! The novel is not complete, but the first draft will be finished by the time I ring in the new year. Since one of my goals for retirement was to devote more time to writing, I’m thrilled with my progress. I’ve also joined two writing groups, and have made the acquaintance of many other scribblers in our area.

The month of November ended with a week-long visit from my mother and daughter. This was their first trip to Tacoma, and we trekked all over town, visiting museums, Pike’s Place market in Seattle, the waterfront area of Tacoma, and many interesting shops. My mother and daughter are tea-drinkers, and where there is tea, there is pee. We were a three-generation tag-team of restroom-goers, helping each other hold bags, coats, and cups – a pretty comical sight.  Today Mom sent me a funny email rant about how difficult and nasty it is to stay clean while using a public women’s restroom – which reminded me of a piece I wrote a while ago about an encounter with the very pinnacle of incivility, is Princess Peepee.

If you’re female, you’ve met Princess Peepee, or have at least seen the evidence of her – er – passing. Her mommy taught her that public toilet seats harbor germs that will poison her, shriveling her precious lady parts and giving her a permanent case of cooties. (Think about it, Chica. Unless you’re very clumsy or practicing some exotic sitting position, your precious lady parts don’t even touch the toilet seat.) But never mind – Mommy taught Princess Peepee to squat, to hover, to release her bodily fluids from on high. OK, fine – I’m all for personal freedoms, as long as they have no negative effect on others. But germaphobic Mommy’s instruction was incomplete – or, perhaps Mommy and Princess Peepee believe that they are the only human beings who count in the whole, wide world.

You see, Mommy forgot to remind Princess to clean up after herself. It’s really quite simple, your highness: just ball up some toilet paper and wipe off the seat until it’s dry. If you have also blessed the floor with your leavings, wipe that up too. Because you see, Princess Peepee, when you leave the seat wet, even a paper toilet seat cover won’t save me from getting wet. And in what universe, oh precious and special one, is it fair that I should have to clean up your mess, you disgusting, thoughtless, conceited slob?

I once had the great pleasure of confronting Princess Peepee in the flesh. This particular princess was young, attractive, expensively dressed and groomed, and deeply engrossed in popping her gum. She emerged from a stall and I entered, then saw the piss-soaked seat she’d left behind. Though my bladder was calling loudly, the call for justice was louder still. I approached the mirror where she was touching up her lipstick and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey Princess,” I said, loudly enough for all to hear, “you must have some real entitlement issues.” She gaped at me, perplexed and a bit alarmed.

“What?” She wrinkled her nose at me.

“You peed all over the seat and just left it for the rest of us to clean up.”

Princess made that dismissive, tongue-sucking sound that teens make and said,  “That wasn’t me.”

“Yes it was.” I stared at her. So did everyone else waiting in that restroom, but not to admire her flowing locks or expensive platform shoes. From the long line behind me I heard giggles, and someone muttered, “That’s right.”

Her majesty rolled her eyes and attempted to sashay out of there, but her gait was unsteady. Princess Peepee had toppled from her throne.

May your holiday shopping be blessedly free from sprinkles – unless they are found on sweet treats.


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