This week, I got bitched twice in the ladies' room at work. Twice! We have a fairly typical office bathroom getup, four stalls and three sinks. First, on Monday, I went in right after someone else had just deposited a DOOZY of a deuce. The bathroom was empty, so I didn't see who it was, but then right when I was leaving, a secretary came down the hall and entered the bathroom, so she probably thought the foul stench was my doing. So unfair.
Then, on Tuesday, right as I was leaving the restroom, someone else flushed, so that the flushing sound reverberated down the outer hall as I opened the bathroom door. The two people in the hallway clearly thought that the flush was mine, and that I had bolted from the bathroom without washing my hands.
So now everyone at my work thinks I'm gross and stinky. Great.
The only solution is to cut out on Friday, and that's just what Imonna do. We're heading to New York for the weekend, but not to the city. We're going to Fire Island, for a gay ol time with Dave's cousin and his boyfriend Bernie. Bernie owns a house with a pool on Fire Island. Apparently the pool is a rarity in those parts. We had been prospectively calling the experience Weekend At Bernie's, in homage to our host. Then, last Sunday, we actually watched Weekend At Bernie's (which, regrettably, has not borne well the test of time) and realized that the movie is actually set on an island off the coast of the Hamptons, as is Fire Island. Life imitates art! Or, really, "art."
Again, please don't maraude our house while we're gone. This is the last of five weekends out of town, so the temptation will soon be obviated.
Happy Friday!
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