I’m not kidding. Eventually, this post is will lead to poop. If you think poop posts are inappropriate, you may want to stop reading. However, if you stop reading, you run the risk of missing out on a funny post – with poop. I wonder how many times I can type the word poop in this post? Yet another reason to continue reading, right? Remember, regardless of the story I tell to get to the poop part, there will be poop.
While Rob and I were dating, we took a trip (by car) to the Keys in FL. Friends of ours were joining us in the Keys, but they took a plane. Why didn’t we take a plane? I do not like to fly. Well, I don’t mind flying; I mind the part about the plane blowing up or coming crashing down. In any case, though our relationship was only 3 months old, Rob agreed travel with me on 12+ hour car ride. Read more
Monetary issues changed our plans at the last minute. Still, we wanted to go on a date. So, my better half and I went to a nearby bar/restaurant. I told my friend, “Our plan is to belly up at the bar and eavesdrop on the conversations around us. Because, you never know when you might run into John Quinones and the ‘What would you do?’ crew.” Read more
One Sunday afternoon, Rob and I were going to meet up with a group of people for a late lunch. Rob and I had time to kill, so we decided to have an ‘early’ lunch at a sports bar. When we walked into the sports bar, we were greeted with the familiar scent of wood, dampened with spilled beer. It probably comes as no shock, the bar was empty on this particular Sunday early afternoon. Based on the scent of stale beer and beer soaked wood, I suspect it was filled with countless patrons the prior night.
Many years ago, Rob and I frequented bars. We started reminiscing about the ‘good ol’days’ of our younger years. I told Rob how the smell of bars immediately caused me to flashback to the flirting days, dating days, etc. Fact is, I met Rob in a bar. He played on a poolplayer’s league, and I met him through two other guys on his team. I became a poolplayer groupie, so to speak. Anyway, one of the things I disliked about the bar scene, aside from the smoke, was the bathroom.
In bars, the woman’s restroom is often packed to the gills with gals primping and chatting. Admittedly, I was one of those primping and chatting gals, back in the day. And, I thought it was funny how the ‘older’ women would try to come across as much younger. Though this may sound harsh, I felt sorry for the older women, thinking to myself “Please. You are way too old to be bar hopping.”
Rob and I continued chatting and reminiscing, really enjoying our walk down memory lane. It came time for us to leave, and I decided to use to the bathroom before we left. As I walked into the bathroom, I was once again greeted with another familiar scent of the bar scene: wet toilet paper. In addition, I noticed this bathroom had the typical wet floors and dented stall doors. When I was done going to the bathroom, I went to the sink to wash my hands. [Proper hygiene is essential, don’t you know.] As I washed my hands, I glanced in the mirror and gasped out loud, literally.
“Oh my!” I laughed to myself. “Who is that old lady hanging out in the bar bathroom?” The reflection I saw in the mirror was similar to the older women I saw in my younger years. Truly, I was startled, humbled and humored. I had become the older women. Where did the time go? Inside, I felt I still looked 25 yrs old. No matter. On this particular day, unlike my younger bar hopping days, I actually left the bar with the cutest guy in the place. And, don’t go pointing out that he may have been the only one in the place. Rob left with me; that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Oh, and please, save me a spot at the bathroom mirror, because this older gal needs way more primp time. Thanks.