Confession: I am a lifelong bathroom anxiety sufferer. Thanks to a traumatic pants-wetting incident at a Blue Angels air show some 30 years ago (NO, I will NOT squat where everyone can see my pearly white heinie, thankyouverymuch), I can’t leave the house without wondering “But will there be a BATHROOM?”
And you know where people with bathroom anxiety shouldn’t go? Asia.
Right now, I am pretty much 30 feet of rumbling, twitching gastric tract stitched together with Imodium, Pepto, and sheer force of will.
But here I am, growing as a person. Though I really don’t think this is doing anything to lessen my bathroom anxiety. But you be the judge.
Despite strategic evening avoidance of liquids, I awoke at 1am in my little attic loft here in the Haripur farmhouse with a pressing bathroom need. I immediately start panicking and calculating. There’s no way I can wait til morning. And getting up and going to the bathroom involves the following:
- Find my flashlight.
- Wrestle my way out of the mosquito net.
- Put on pants.
- Unbarricade my door – and the wooden crossbar is wedged TIGHT.
- Navigate the dark through a finicky gate, down a tricky set of stairs that has me fearful of re-dislocating my knee with every step, find my shoes, head across the inner courtyard, through another tricky gate, and across the yard…where there might be jackals. DID I MENTION THE JACKALS? Note to any B&B proprietors out there: Avoid using phrases like “There might be jackals” with your guests when explaining the facilities. And when you say other things like “they don’t usually come close to the house” but you’ve also said “No, we don’t have any monkeys here” just an hour before a pack of macaques shows up and you’ve given me a room with open windows and no screens, you’ve lost all credibility, wildlife-wise. I don’t know how to get around it, but just don’t say things like that. The night is dark and full of terrors, indeed.
- Now I’ve made it to the outhouse! Yay! Uh, no. So deal with the inner and outer latches of the outhouse. And mentally prepare yourself.
- In the dim light of my flashlight which I will attempt to hold with my chin and pray to not drop in the squatty potty, I’ll try not to pee on my balloony pants or my own feet. And forget about startling or jumping when huge beetles land on you or you put your hand on a spider.
- Use your imagination to deal with the no TP situation.
- Now I get to traverse all this back up to my bed.
|There's the outhouse, so innocent in the daylight.|
|And that little guy is a squatty potty. NOT A FAN.|
I don’t know about you, but that is all the exact opposite of what I can cope with in the middle of the night. Or maybe ever.
So my bleary-headed solution?
Drain my water cup, pee in it, then toss the contents out the window into the water buffalo paddock down below. They pee there all the time, so what's a little more? PROBLEM=SOLVED. But then I can't fall back asleep because I TOSSED MY PEE OUT A WINDOW ONTO TWO WATER BUFFALOS.