I wrote about a theatrical wardrobe malfunction and about getting stuck in Dave’s bathroom. Clothing and urination and my good-girl days. Then I remembered what happened when that girl grew up and was released into the wild.
(Seriously? Not much happened. I’m still a pretty good girl, and also? Hi Mom!)
Around the Millenium, I lived in near Boston, and two of my best girlfriends lived about a half mile away. Many were the nights of carousing, and if we were lucky catching the Red Line back as far as our stop. A cab from the T station, or better yet the bus, was always cheaper.
That night we caught the Red Line, and decided we’d use the mile walk from the station to their apartment to sober up. I would crash on their couch, and head home the half mile to my apartment in the morning.
Back in those days public restrooms on the T were rare and foul. After last call, the square buttoned up tight, so if a girl needed to pee, she was right out of luck.
“Just use the Pee Church,” my friend suggested, pointing to a gray stone church about a block away, ringed with hedges, thickly shadowed and inky green in the darkness.
“They don’t lock it?” I asked naïvely.
“No. Yes, they do. Just pee behind the hedge. My University friends used to do it all the time. It’s a long walk home if you don’t.”
I kept walking, bladder pressing on my thoughts. Halfway there the urge was desperate, and cover was scarce. I had given up the option to squat when I passed the Pee Church.
I soldiered on up the hill, my bladder insistent with the knowledge that we were getting incrementally closer to a toilet.
With a tenth of a mile left, I’d had it. I was still tipsy, I had to go, and I couldn’t wait anymore. I demanded the keys from my friends, and took off.
I ran, full tilt, in four-inch platform peeptoe sandals along the sidewalk until I got to their place, unlocked the door with shaking hands, and sprinted down the hallway to the bathroom.
I made it, but I didn’t close the front door.
There is a place called the Pee Church, despite my lack of reverence I can’t do that, and I can sprint in heels under the right circumstances. Lessons learned.