Girls in the Bathroom

Thursday, between afternoon activities, too far from home to make a pit-stop there, my boys and I had about an hour to kill. Because I am a good, good mother, a virtual Queen of the Mamas, I took them to a sports bar & grill. Every inch of wall space was covered with televisions, all tuned into different channels, none of which was HGTV. While I found myself over-stimulated, they found themselves in boy heaven.

We ordered a couple of greasy appetizers in the food categories that will someday be life-threatening to them, when they are in their 40s. They scarfed it so fast it was a wonder the waitress had any fingers on her right hand after setting down the plates and retracting her arm. She looked scared, like she had reached into the gorilla enclosure at the zoo without thinking.

Before piling into the car, again, to drive to our next destination, I told the boys to go to the restroom. I did the same. I'm pretty sure they didn't wash their hands because they all three were impatiently waiting for me when I exited the Ladies' Room. "Mama," gasped my 10 year-old, "there were girls in our bathroom." Using his hands to indicate an enormous amount, he repeated, "Lots of girls! Everywhere!"

Hearing this made me momentarily panic. Did I go in the wrong bathroom? How mortifying. I would do something like that, too. I glanced at the doors, to check my attention to detail. Nope, I entered the correct lavatory. "What were girls doing in the Men's Room?"

Excitedly, he said, "They were in their cheerleader uniforms and stuff like that."

Seeing my look of consternation - although he wouldn't have used that word to describe it, he would have said SHOCK - my 12 year-old explained, "Just pictures of girls, Mama," which sent my head reeling in another sordid direction. But before I could address that thought, he added, "and there're two flat-screen TVs in there, too! I love this place." Then he sighed.

"It's a wonder y'all ever came out," I responded.

The worst part of the whole scene, was that I felt jilted; not just for myself, but for all women everywhere who have ever been to a sports bar & grill. Because all I had in my bathroom was a baby changing station and a dusty, plastic palm, sure signs of discrimination. No wonder there weren't any girls in my bathroom.