The Restroom

June 2, 1974


Paul was feeling a bit left out yesterday because Ned was off on a camping trip and Jeri was at her Brownie Overnight. To help make things special for the other three, I took them to Sambo's for dinner. Things went pretty well for most of the event. They all decided on waffles or pancakes and despite the huge portions they all made a considerable dent in the meal.

 Things started to go wrong when I OK'd a trip to the bathroom. Paul was looking a little yellow about the eyes and threatening to do something very embarrassing if we didn't find a room soon and Tom was yelling (yes, yelling) "I have to go POOP!" with David trailing along behind sing-songing "poopies, poopies, poopies." Well, so much for the ol' image.

 The bad thing about having a kid old enough to read "m-e-n" and "w-o-m-e-n" is that they become quit indignant about suggestions that they visit the wrong room. That was still OK. We determined that Paul would indeed be able to open the door again after he went in and I went to pay the bill. One thing in Sambo's credit is that restrooms are behind a door which says "restroom" and then the individual doors are hidden from the general public. As I stood there at the cash register, the unmistakable and ominous sound of loud giggling came to my ears. I paid my money and retreated behind the "restroom" door to hiss "get out of there!" at the door to the men's room. David at this point discovered that he could open the door and went in to join the boys, whereupon Tom began to scream "David!" at top volume (David had crawled under the john door and was pestering him). I whispered louder, "get OUT of there!" and Tom yelled back at top volume, "But, Mom, I'm going POOP!" I grabbed Paul and told him to at least get David and all started to go outside to wait for Tom, who began to scream, "Don't leave me!" At this point I gave up proprieties and entered the forbidden men's room to pull Tom, pants still off, out the door.

 Paul was yelling, "Hey! David went peep in his pants," the toilet was filled with sombody's poop (I assumed Tom's) and I had to make another trip back in to flush it. Somewhere in the middle of this melee, the waitress came running in to find us and give us Winnie the Pooh, who had decided to stay behind and finish our leftovers.

 After the bathroom experience, I wanted to retreat as gracefully as possible under the circumstances, but first had to pry David's fingers off the front door of the restaurant, as he was chinning himself on the bar.

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