Bathroom

Travels with Mother

Once we’d gone enough miles it was unlikely we would be apprehended with bathroom destruction with malice aforethought, I pulled into a nice looking station/store.  This one looked like it was progressive enough to have excellent bathroom facilities, which we sorely in needed by now, since Mother was the only one who got to use the restroom at the last stop.  For once, she generously, encouraged her daughters to go first, which we lived to regret. I’d have loved to have laid the blame at her door for what we found.

Marilyn, my youngest sister, rushed in to relieve her agonized bladder.  In three seconds, she rushed out, “Oh, my gosh!  You’ve got to see this!”  

She obviously hadn’t had time to take care of any business. As mother of two teen-aged girls, the manager of a call-center, and youngest of five children, it takes something special to rattle her.

Like an idiot, I followed her in.  Someone, a very healthy eater by the way, had obviously paid a visit. The nauseating smell of fermented feces greeted us as we entered the bathroom.  It was horrendous, but I’ve been known to raise a stink myself.

Upon opening the stall, I saw a perfect liquefied poop sunburst splattered above the toilet.  Obviously, someone in great distress had blown a gasket as just as they stooped to settle in for a satisfying moment of quality time alone.  The toilet fixtures, the wall behind the toilet, the floor, and the stall wall were covered artistically with a thoroughly natural medium. 

It doesn’t bear thinking of the condition of that poor unfortunate perpetrator of the masterpiece as she exited the store! We scurried out to tell the disgusted clerk what we’d found, only to find numerous visitors had already enlightened her.  That’s when we learned about the worst job in the world.  An industrial service was on its way.

Once more, courting legal problems, we decided to stand guard for each other and use the Men’s Room. Normally, I would have been disgusted, but compared to what we’d just seen, it smelled like a rose.

Kathleen Carries On  Part 5 or Kathleen Tries to Takeover Windsor Castle

Kathleen surprised
Kathleen, Surprised

Windsor Castle Attempted Takeover

It’s not likely you heard this on the news, but I suspect my mother, Kathleen tried to stage a takeover of Windsor Castle about twenty years ago when she was merely seventy-five or so. You see, Kathleen has been jealous of Queen Elizabeth ever since she knew there was such a person as Queen Elizabeth. She was only a year younger and probably a much more deserving person of all that went along with being a princess. For instance, in her pictures, Princess Elizabeth always had curly hair. Kathleen’s hair was, blonde, straight, and fine. Worse yet, Kathleen’s father kept her hair in a bowl cut. She felt sure the king didn’t perch Princess Elizabeth on a stool in the kitchen and lop her hair off. Besides, if it was naturally curly, that was even more unfair, Princess Elizabeth’s family had plenty of money to get her a perm. Kathleen was poor with straight hair.

The magazines were full of photos with Princess Elizabeth going here and there in sumptuous clothes. What had she done to deserve all that fuss? Kathleen worked hard in school, behaved in church, and helped her parents in the house and garden. She was much more deserving. The princess probably did nothing all day except play with snooty kids, go to tea parties, and sit on a cushion in her crown. It just wasn’t right.

Worse yet, when she got married and had children people went crazy for her. Kathleen had five children and had to manage on her own no matter how hard things got.

Considering all this, I believe when Kathleen got to Windsor Castle , she tried to stage a coup. The story I heard was, “We were the last group of the day. I didn’t want to miss a thing, so I put off going to the bathroom as long as I could. I darted in the bathroom for just a minute, and when I came out everybody was gone. I had to look around and find a guard to let me out. It took a while.” I don’t doubt the part about ducking in the bathroom. Mother knows everything bathroom between her own and Timbuktu. The part I don’t believe is the “just a minute” part. We’ve timed Mother. Her shortest bathroom visit is thirteen minutes. I don’t know what she does.

Meanwhile, her tour group was waiting outside, twiddling their thumbs and questioning where she could be. They would have probably left her had my sister not been with them.

I fully believe had that nosy guard not interfered, Mother would have perched herself on the throne.

Travels With Mother (Part 5)

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/05/the-low-down-on-lunch-with-mother/
https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/06/travels-with-mother-part-2/

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/11/the-most-fun-youll-never-have-kathleens-amazing-bathroom-tour/

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/14/its-not-what-you-tank/

 

 

 

Continuation

Once we’d gone enough miles it was unlikely we would be apprehended with bathroom destruction with malice aforethought, I pulled into a nice looking station/store.  This one looked like it was progressive enough to have excellent bathroom facilities, which we sorely in needed by now, since Mother was the only one who got to use the restroom at the last stop.  For neck she generously, encouraged her daughters to go first, which we lived to regret. I’d have loved to have laid the blame at her door for what we found. Marilyn, my youngest sister, rushed in to relieve her agonized bladder.  In three seconds, she rushed out, “Oh, my gosh!  You’ve got to see this!” 

She obviously hadn’t had time to take care of any business. As mother of two teen-aged girls, the manager of a call-center, and youngest of five children, it takes something special to rattle her.

Like an idiot, I followed her in.  Someone, a very healthy eater by the way, had obviously paid a visit. The nauseating smell of fermented feces greeted us as we entered the bathroom.  It was horrendous, but I’ve been known to raise a stink myself.

Upon opening the stall, I saw a perfect liquefied poop sunburst splattered above the toilet.  Obviously, someone in great distress had blown a gasket as just as they stooped to settle in for a satisfying moment of quality time alone.  The toilet fixtures, the wall behind the toilet, the floor, and the stall wall were covered artistically with a thoroughly natural medium.  It doesn’t bear thinking of the condition of that poor unfortunate perpetrator of the masterpiece as she exited the store! We scurried out to tell the disgusted clerk what we’d found, only to find numerous visitors had already enlightened her.  That’s when we learned about the worst job in the world.  An industrial service was on its way.

Once more, courting legal problems, we decided to stand guard for each other and use the Men’s Room. Normally, I would have been disgusted, but compared to what we’d just seen, it smelled like a rose.

To be continued.

The Most Fun You’ll Never Have, Kathleen’s Amazing Bathroom Tour!

 

imageKathleen Swain and her daughters

Upper Left, Linda Swain Bethea, Right, Phyllis Swain Barrington

First Row Left, Kathleen Holdaway Swain (see how deceptively nice she looks)  Connie Swain Miller, Marilyn Grisham
It’s discouraging writing about my mother, Kathleen Holdaway Swain.  Despite my long, rich history of complaining endlessly about the trials of dealing with her, she keeps getting the best of me.  It’s made worse because I tower over her, outweigh her, and am much more physically imposing, but then, who isn’t?  I do my best to take care of her, and should I exhibit the slightest impatience, onlookers treat me like I am maligning a saint.  Granted, she is tiny, far less than five feet tall, has a squeaky Minnie Mouse voice, and looks like a delightful little old church-lady.  Though she smiles and greets every soul she meets, inwardly she is malicious and conniving, constantly plotting to make me look bad.  Sometimes it doesn’t take much.

Not so long ago, my sisters and I took Mother on a girl-trip.  We were laughing just before we got out of the car about the way she’d lecture us against potential bad behavior before she had to drag the five of us hyenas (her word) into a store or business. When we inevitably started to ask for stuff, anyway, despite her stern warning, she’d fix us with a look from Hell and warn, “Don’t start!  Just don’t start!”  That dried us right up.  

First of all, Mother is the slowest person in the history of Motherdom, in case I never mentioned it before.  As she walks along, she keeps a look out for lost coins in the parking lot and frequently finds them, additionally stopping to greet all passersby.  This was the first stop of the trip. I was hurrying ahead leaving her to drag up the rear, since I had to buy gas, thinking my sisters could keep her out of trouble.  Rather than dawdling with them as they got out of the car, she came running behind me like her life depended on not getting left, and believe me, it was not because she intended to buy gas.  She has four daughters to take care of that.  As a joke, she picked it where our conversation left off, calling behind me, “Linda, wait for me!  I want you to buy me…….”

            Not realizing we had an audience of a couple in their late sixties, I called out behind me, without bothering to look, knowing she was just continuing our conversation from the car.  “Don’t start!  Just don’t start!”  Men in their fifties and sixties just love Mother, assuming she is just a sweet, little old lady, just like their dear mother.  They have no idea of the trouble she is capable of.  The man glared at me, striding into the store, leaving my poor, mistreated, little, old mother alone and uncared for, abandoned in the parking lot.  He took her by the arm and helped her into the store, making sure she had all the attention she needed.  He fixed her up with a sandwich and coffee, after fixing me with a scathing look of hatred.  I had no idea what I might have done till she rubbed my nose in it later.  I only wish he’d hung around long enough to know she was on her way to destroy the bathroom, literally, but more on that tomorrow.

To be continued…….

 

The Great Gum Heist

imageMy mother broke me from stealing.  It’s just as well.  I wasn’t any good at it anyway.  She was having coffee with her friend, Miss Frankie.  I was bored and used my ingenious ruse.  “I gotta go to the bathroom.” Continue reading →