Pit Stop

Minutes before everybody had to go potty, Laura snapped this picture of Cecily in Covent Garden beneath the Toy Theater sign. The smile on Cecily's face probably reflects her pleasure at acquiring a piece of gum from Mom more than her excitement about being at one of London's most famous and oldest toy stores.

I've never been a fan of public restrooms, but with three little girls, it's a virtual certainty that I'll see the inside of at least one every day. Today's special loo visit was to the ladies' public restroom at Covent Garden. It was interesting for several reasons. First, although it was definitely a women's room, the attendant, who was all over the restroom the entire time we were there (which was not insubstantial; little girls take a LONG time to use a public facility and, for some strange reason, have a tremendous desire to touch every nasty, germ-infested surface) was male (that did not escape Cecily's rather LOUD notice). Second, the set-up was quite strange. The passage to the stalls is virtually blocked by a solid column with a ring of electronic hand-dryers around it. When it's your turn for the next vacant stall, you have to do a little shimmy around the ladies who are drying their hands (try to do that with three little girls hanging off of you -- each trying to shove her sisters aside so SHE can get the FIRST stall). Third, the wall dispensers don't have the typical feminine hygiene products that we women are used to seeing. Instead, they offered a "Fresher-Up Pack" that included face freshener (I was tempted to buy a pack just to find out what that was), shampoo, moisturizer, a comb, an emery board, a toothbrush, hair clips, a safety pin and cotton wool (which I assume is a cotton ball). All this could be yours for a mere two pounds (about $3). It made me wonder if the restroom was a frequent stop for homeless people or perhaps a stopping-off point for backpackers or hostel-dwelling travelers. The final surprise (that I failed to see when I first entered the bathroom because I was trying to stop Cecily from yelling, "Mommy, I really gotta go or I'm gonna pee my pants!") was a scale at the front of the facility -- just where all the ladies in line can see exactly how much you weigh. Oh, and it costs 40 pence. You must PAY for the pleasure of being publicly humiliated! Why someone thought it might be a good money-maker to put a pay scale in a public restroom is beyond me. I'm shocked that it showed no evidence of vandalism! I usually complain to Scott bitterly about each trip to a public bathroom with the girls (specifically complaining about why CAN'T a man take an 8-year-old into the men's room?), but today's visit was very interesting. For that, I guess, I owe my little princesses a thank you.