You can but why would you?

Without sharing too much, let me just inform you that I have a thing about public restrooms of all shapes and sizes. Saying that I despise them is putting it lightly. I am a lady and therefore will not get into the down and (literally) dirty details, but let me thank each and every person who thoroughly washes their hands before exiting the commode. And a very heartfelt thank you to anyone who designs stall doors to open outward.

On that note, I have to tell you one of the worst things I heard all weekend and maybe in all my life. Picture me at Golden Gate Park on day three of a free and extremely crowded outdoor music festival. I'm standing in line for the port-a-potties, a necessary evil, trying to decide if there's any way that I can hold it for 3-4 more hours. It's an unhealthy and abnormal solution, but a gal can dream. Meanwhile, I am also taking very deep breaths to prepare myself for 45 seconds or so of not breathing while being trapped inside the teal blue abyss that awaits.

Suddenly a stranger emerges from one of the stalls, he's a young man in his mid-twenties. He holds both hands high in the air and begins pumping his fists, and I feel that this is a sign. He has just made it out of the eye of the storm and he is celebrating a hard-won victory. He is my angel sent to tell and show me that everything's going to be ok, that there is fresh air and peace waiting for me on the other side, that I must face this demon in order to fully enjoy and appreciate life as I know it. And I am ready to accept this challenge.

Then I see that my angel is about to speak, so I tune out the rest of the world and prepare for his revelation. "It's true," he says, "Barefoot port-a-potty can be done!" I look down in disgust to see his naked feet covered with dirt (and who knows what else). I feel disappointed, betrayed, and repulsed by this caveman. Seriously, who raised him? And who is going to take him to the doctor when his toes fall off from inevitable infection?