When Bathrooms Try to Be Saunas

So I just got lunch a moment or two ago, and I ran to the restroom to make some enchiladas and order drapery from the Home Shopping Network. Honestly, what do you think I do in the restroom?

I walk in, and I'm immediately oppressed by the heat. My hair grew three sizes in that fro-inducing climate.

I spun around quickly to make sure I hadn't walked outside, as it is cincuenta billion degrees outside, and more moist than the freshest towelette at the ribhouse. No, definitely inside, although the thought of our associates trying to fathom outdoor bathrooms made me laugh. These are the same people who whine about having to go outside to cross the street, remember.

Which puts me in the ladies', laughing to myself while my hair expands.

And let me tell you something about stench, o my friends. Stench prefers warmer climes, and hangs out longer if you give it thicker air. So while I'm in there calling HSN and putting my food in the oven at 350 for thirty minutes (please follow the joke- it's not a metaphor), there's the ghost of Big Steamies Past in the corner, filing her nails and asking to borrow my lip gloss. Pervasive. Intrusive, even.

Can I ask you a favour? Don't yell at your kids while you're taking a shit. Really. Please. I just can't laugh that quietly. This isn't the first time, either. I realize you're a working mother and all that, but- you're trying to take a shit, right? You're doubling the amount of time you have to sit in the shitsauna. That's all I've got to say.

I hope they get the air duct fixed. This happened in the winter, too, 'cept cold air kept pouring in instead of thick mugginess. You had to chip the ice just to pee. Funny, though, in the winter there was a giant Shrek punching bag set up in the corner. I wonder what ever happened to it.

Kinda miss the old guy hanging out in the ladies'.