My office is nearly the end of the hallway. On the right wing of the building from the lobby (or left, depending on your orientation). The bathrooms are in the middle, by the main conference rooms and elevator bank. Some days, because it is s o f a r a w a y ! I wait until the last possible moment to go to the bathroom. Practically speed walking to ease my discomfort.
Why am I telling you this?
Because when I was a freshman in college it was the same exact thing. I was on the right wing (or left) off the lobby of my dorm. Practically at the end. My roommate and I would wait until the last possible moment. If I recollect, we really did run down the hall to the bathroom.
Talk about lazy.
I told Norman the other day with A nearly 7 years old, we have to stop calling it the “potty” and use a more age appropriate term. Has your 7 yr-old given you the look when you said “potty”? How about the 7 yr-old that thinks she’s 16? I’m already uncool in so many ways.
Coming up – and I’ve been contemplating this post for weeks now – I’ll talk about Size. That it really does matter. Even though it should not.
March 31, 2010 at 9:05 am
LOL My mother – at 68 – still says potty. I’m probably stuck with it forever, unless Steven insists on C always asking, “Ou est la toilette?”
April 3, 2010 at 5:11 pm
I would just say “go to the bathroom”. In my experience with 7 years olds, that works. Hope this helps!
July 9, 2010 at 3:54 am
[...] the fit on my body triggered some secret lock and key I wasn’t really aware of. I wanted to write about it back then. But I didn’t. After all, it’s just so much easier to stuff it down and ignore. [...]