Toilet Talk

Fourty-five minutes before lunchtime today, the receptionist at my office got on the intercom system to announce that the water had been shut off. “The bathrooms are off-limits until further notice,” she advised.

Oh, sweet discomfort! It is only when you are told that you cannot use the bathroom that you suddenly have the terrible urge to use the bathroom.

“I just had a big mug of tea!” my co-worker confided nervously.

“Me, too!” I replied.

What do we do? Where do we go? We work in the industrial sector of town, so our choices are limited. Luckily, there is a restaurant in the office building across the street. Many ladies shuffled down the road to purchase an overpriced sandwich and to heed the call of nature while they were there.

I held it in. I credit my intense school-age training, when I was uneasy about using the school toilets. I normally held it in until I got home. I admit that I had my share of mad dashes from the bus stop to my house. But, meh, on the whole, it worked for me.

About one hour after the end of our lunch break, the receptionist got back on the intercom, declaring that the building was once again with water. I heard ladies’ cheers as I quickly lined up for the employee bathroom.

“I can go back to drinking water again!” the boss’s mother hooted giddily.

“Until now, I sure didn’t chance it,” I added, cotton-mouthed and shifting from foot to foot while waiting for a bathroom door to unlock.

Today’s inconvenience reminded me of a radio report I had heard last week. Did you know that last Friday was World Toilet Day? At face value, it does sound like a bit of a joke. However, the report did bring up some fascinating facts.

* Men’s and women’s public restrooms are usually the same size, square-footage-wise, however, you can fit double the number of restroom units inside the men’s room.

* In order for there to be “potty parity” between men and women, experts have determined that there should be double the number of restroom units for women than for men.

* Some men argue that if women want to attain the ultimate equality in a public restroom setting (one of the last remaining inequalities of the sexes, some might say), women should be prepared to give up some “toilet luxuries” and settle for such devices as the *gasp!* female urinal.

* On a more serious note, the report also brought up how female fieldworkers in developing countries choose not to hydrate themselves during work hours--even in extreme heat--because there are no toilet facilities provided to them.

* The introduction of proper sanitation has actually upped school enrollment in some developing countries. Who knew?

These last facts made me especially embarrassed of making a fuss over our temporary toilet inconvenience. We don’t know how good we have it until it is taken away from us, after all.


To learn more about World Toilet Day, have a look here: http://www.worldtoilet.org/wtd/

When Bad Boys Grow into Mad Men

[Note: I don’t think I am giving anything away about the Mad Men series with this post, but if you want to watch the series with fresh eyes, maybe it’s best that you read this only after you watch the first episode.]

I have a crush on someone and Jon knows about it. And he’s pretty cool about it. We share our bed with him on most nights. And I think that, deep down, Jon is kind of fond of him, too—in a brotherly way, of course.

I have a thing for Don Draper.

Jon and I recently signed up with Netflix. We dove into the Mad Men series about a swank ad agency in the 1960s, devouring Seasons 1 through 3 in about a month and a half. We hopped in bed to watch the Season 3 finale last night on my laptop. I brought a cup of hot tea. Jon brought a (fitting) glass of scotch. I sighed longingly as the closing credits filled the screen. I had the slightest hankering for a cigarette (and I don’t smoke). Oh, Don Draper.

Not since Jordan Catalano have I had such a girlish crush on a television character. It got me thinking about the similarities between the teenage wavy-haired bad boy from My So-Called Life and my pomade-coiffed Mad Man. Besides their good hair and good looks, both have notorious reputations. Both are men of few words. Both smoke. Both value their cars. Both are unfaithful. Both struggle with the concept of love. Both are troubled.

Admittedly, the “Cons” list is much longer than the “Pros” column. So, what is it about bad boys that make girls of all ages weak in the knees? Is it due to our fascination with wanting to save lost souls? Is it our little escape into an emotionally dangerous world we would normally avoid? Is it just a good TV script?

I am relieved that my taste in bad boys has improved over the last 16 years. For instance, Don Draper is a successful businessman, while Jordan Catalano’s chances of graduating high school are pretty slim. Don Draper takes his wife to expensive restaurants, while Jordan Catalano takes Angela to the boiler room to make out. Don Draper strives to make a name for himself in the advertising world, while Jordan Catalano hopes to find success with his generic garage band. Don Draper wears tailored suits and classy fedoras, while Jordan Catalano wears smelly sheepskin coats and seashell necklaces. Granted, Don Draper drinks scotch before noon, while Jordan Catalano smokes weed at recess… so there’s no clear winner in that category.

There is something sexy about 1960s office life that we can never recreate today. Back then, a desk drawer was reserved for hard liquor and four drinking glasses. In our office, we keep resealable packs of booze-free flavoured tea. Back then, there were offices with closed doors. Today, we constantly look over our shoulders while we type away in our cubby-like cubicles. OK, don’t get me started about the sexual harassment accusations that would be logged today if we interacted with our co-workers like they did in the 1960s. However, I can’t help but envy the sassy, jewel-toned outfits that female employees sashayed in.

Let’s go back to that bad-boy “Pros” list for a moment. Are Don Draper and my guy similar in any way? Both are handsome, especially in a suit. Both are men of few words. Both are making their mark in their respective fields. Both love their whiskey. Both have special relationships with their cars. Sure, both have their imperfections, but who doesn’t? Mine, however, knows the value of a woman’s love. And that’s what gives Jon Dukeshire a winning advantage over Don Draper any day.

Oh, that and the fact that Don Draper is trapped in a television show. Cheers.

Conversations with a One-Year-Old

I admit that my son’s level of communication is at a beginner level right now. However, the fact that Marshall is expressing himself and being understood is a huge breakthrough in our home.

One of our most memorable conversations happened during suppertime a few weeks ago and it went a little like this:


While observing Marshall push a mouthful of food out his mouth with his tongue—very classy…

Mama: It looks like you’ve had enough supper. Are we all done, Marshall?

Marshall raises his hands in the air à la “all done!” to indicate he’s full.

Mama: That’s too bad, because I have a yogurt here with your name on it (revealing the yogurt).

Marshall lets out an anxious squeak, while pointing at his yogurt.

Mama: But I thought we were all done!

Marshall continues to point until Mama pries open the yogurt lid.


Our entire thirty-second conversation brought a tear to my eye. Gosh, there were days when time dragged on, when my inconsolable infant refused to eat, refused to sleep and only wanted to be held. Nowadays, he’s a whirlwind of vocal exercises who crawls through the house, attacks the toilet paper roll, tugs on the dog and plays with every toy on his play mat in a matter of minutes.

And with that whirlwind come big changes. Marshall can walk beside me while holding me with one hand. He can ease himself back to sleep in the middle of the night. He has stopped eyeballing me as a food source now that he has discovered 3.25% milk. All these things make me misty-eyed, too.

Really, I get emotional over the tiniest things nowadays! In fact, I was so concerned about this that I took a pregnancy test not too long ago. If my tear ducts were that out of whack, I must be knocked up. But no, the test was negative.

It turns out that having a baby can knead a tough cookie into a doughy sap.

Case-in-point, my heart skips a little beat when Marshall blows me kisses or crawls up to me for one of his smooshy “I love you” bear hugs, two of my most favourite interactions with my boy. There is nothing more genuine and unconditional than a baby’s hug. I suspect that baby hugs could bring about world peace.

Can anybody send me a time machine? And some Kleenex?