In spite of the bacteria's best efforts we all made it onto the ship and sailed on the "Maiden Voyage" of the Disney Dream.
It would have been better if we had been too sick to board.
This is not a thought that should ever occur to me but it is true. If we had been denied boarding, the insurance policy would have kicked in and we would have received a refund. At the time I would have been devastated, but in hind sight, it would have been best. You see, the voyage pretty much failed to meet every expectation we had.
This was not our first Disney cruise, but our 5th. Prior to this one, every cruise has been perfectly magical. In fact easily the best vacations we've ever had and the main reason we bought into the Disney Vacation Club. So it is fair to say we had high expectations for this cruise. Or course, knowing the ship is new. we expected some glitches, but we never dreamed it would be what it was.
I had envisioned champagne bottle breaking on hull, and perhaps some celebrity special performances. Apparently this is not what "maiden voyage" means. I found out it means "any one of a series of cruises that cost way more and provide way less." Go figure.
Oh, more more key thing it means: CALLING ALL COLLECTOR NUT BALLS!!!!
The freaks were out in force. Oh, not your average friendly freaks-you know-my people- but people who will steal brass plates out of an elevator, walk off with dinner plates in their handbags, and spend most of their vacation standing in line to buy junk they plan on selling on Ebay. These people would mow over small kids to get a pin they don't even want to keep. The ship of Dreams, all right. Dreaming of feeding those people to the sharks!
Aside from poorly trained staff and minor ship malfunctions, there are two things that were actually pretty funny. That is, they will be funny to other people. Not so much to us at the time. The first is that we went into the very fancy spa and laid around in the hot tubs, steam rooms and showers. Or we would have if the hot tubs hadn't been broken. I tried the tropical thunderstorm shower. The lights flashed. Birds squawked, thunder rumbled and tropical flowers seemed to be blooming in the air. It was very realistic. Then the water came on in a FREEZING COLD TORRENT right onto my head. I bet they heard my indignant shrieks three decks lower. Whatever was wrong with the hot tubs was also wrong with the showers.
The other thing involved room service. One of the many perks to a cruise vacation is 24hr complimentary room service. A very nice touch if you don't want to get up early, or want to enjoy breakfast on your balcony, or whatever. I, however, was hard pressed to remember all those lovely details when we got a 6am wake up call informing us room service was on the way--this on the one sleep in day!
We had not ordered any room service.
I am not at my best when I am tired. Or according to hubs I may, or may not, bear a superficial similarity to Attila The Hun. Hmmm. There is a titch of truth there.
Anyway, we very grumpily went back to bed cursing crossed phone lines, only to have a crew member start pounding on the door at 6:30 delivering the meal we hadn't ordered and then had attempted to cancel. A+ for persistence, guys! F--- for the ability to catch up on much needed sleep!
Of course it wasn't all bad, there was even "some good." All I can say, is that in a year, the ship will be spectacular. I just wish we had waited. Sometimes the early bird doesn't get the worm; sometimes the early bird learns a costly lesson.
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Saturday, February 5, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Ship of Dreams
We just got home from spending a week in Orlando. We spent 4 days covering Sea World and Universal Studios and then boarded the new Disney Ship Dream.
Funny story about that. My last post was about how crazy I was trying to keep us all from getting sick.
It didn't work.
The motel we stayed at in Orlando was a no-frills place. Perfectly adequate for crashing at night after an exhausting day trekking around theme parks, but not a lot of bells and whistles. We knew this when we booked it, so we were happy with it. It included a bare bones continental breakfast which even saved a bit of cash. The pool was closed but given unseasonably cold weather we didn't care. It did however have one HUGE bonus we didn't expect.
It was next door to a hospital.
So at least when we had to take a kid to the ER we didn't have to call a cab. I was terrified that we would not be allowed on board the ship if kids were hacking up lungs as they had the same upper respiratory bronchitis crap that Hubs had. Luckily, thanks to the miracle of Zithromax he had recovered nicely. (Not before he spewed germs on the rest of us...but that's another post.) I knew if she and I were sick it was only a matter of time before D1 came down with it as well. Sadly, now that antibiotics are harder to get than most street drugs, no doctor will give you a prescription for a healthy kid even when you KNOW that in four days they won't be healthy. The day when you will be on a ship in the middle of the FREAKIN' OCEAN FAR FROM THE DOCTOR YOU WANT TO KICK IN THE SHINS!
It was time for desperate measures. I told D2 that when the doctor asked if she could swallow pills she was--under penalty of no desserts on the ship--to say she couldn't. I hoped there would be enough liquid left over for the other kid.
Yeah, I KNOW you're not supposed to do that. But honestly, with an entire vacation on the line? Sharing antibiotics wasn't gonna cost me much sleep in the guilt department.
Apparently they have learned that trick in the ghetto hospital because there was enough for her 5 doses and not one blessed drop more. I mean, for heaven's sake, we're talking an antibiotic here, not crack! It's not like I was going to lick the bottle! Sure I was planning on cheating, but still! The nerve!
Don't judge me. We had been planning this cruise for THREE YEARS and there was no way a sinus infection was going to stop us.
Stay tuned for the next post: Why I wish we had skipped the ER after all...
Funny story about that. My last post was about how crazy I was trying to keep us all from getting sick.
It didn't work.
The motel we stayed at in Orlando was a no-frills place. Perfectly adequate for crashing at night after an exhausting day trekking around theme parks, but not a lot of bells and whistles. We knew this when we booked it, so we were happy with it. It included a bare bones continental breakfast which even saved a bit of cash. The pool was closed but given unseasonably cold weather we didn't care. It did however have one HUGE bonus we didn't expect.
It was next door to a hospital.
So at least when we had to take a kid to the ER we didn't have to call a cab. I was terrified that we would not be allowed on board the ship if kids were hacking up lungs as they had the same upper respiratory bronchitis crap that Hubs had. Luckily, thanks to the miracle of Zithromax he had recovered nicely. (Not before he spewed germs on the rest of us...but that's another post.) I knew if she and I were sick it was only a matter of time before D1 came down with it as well. Sadly, now that antibiotics are harder to get than most street drugs, no doctor will give you a prescription for a healthy kid even when you KNOW that in four days they won't be healthy. The day when you will be on a ship in the middle of the FREAKIN' OCEAN FAR FROM THE DOCTOR YOU WANT TO KICK IN THE SHINS!
It was time for desperate measures. I told D2 that when the doctor asked if she could swallow pills she was--under penalty of no desserts on the ship--to say she couldn't. I hoped there would be enough liquid left over for the other kid.
Yeah, I KNOW you're not supposed to do that. But honestly, with an entire vacation on the line? Sharing antibiotics wasn't gonna cost me much sleep in the guilt department.
Apparently they have learned that trick in the ghetto hospital because there was enough for her 5 doses and not one blessed drop more. I mean, for heaven's sake, we're talking an antibiotic here, not crack! It's not like I was going to lick the bottle! Sure I was planning on cheating, but still! The nerve!
Don't judge me. We had been planning this cruise for THREE YEARS and there was no way a sinus infection was going to stop us.
Stay tuned for the next post: Why I wish we had skipped the ER after all...
Thursday, January 20, 2011
A day in the Life of a Germ-A-Phobe
Back in the day, yes, WAAAAAAAY back then, I enjoyed learning about microbiology. It was utterly captivating in the same way that a car accident involving multiple gory injuries is. You desperetly want a glimpse at the same time you are terrified of what you might actually see. I loved learning about all the tiny little specks too small to see that were powerful enough to decimate entire populations or make yogurt depending on thier whims. I loved doing the project where we went around campus and cultured places to see what we could grow.
Yummy.
FYI- it turned out to be more hygienic to lick the toilet than to touch either the door knob or the phone. YES! Cell phones are a good thing. At least you just put your own germs on your face...
Where was I going?
Oh right, now I remember. At the time I went through a brief period where I was obsessed with all things growing and didn't want to touch anything. Shaking hands was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. The thought of touching raw chicken would make me heave. It was a great, if short lived, diet. Eventually I got over it and went back to ignoring the microscopic world rather than seeing it as an army planning covert ops at every second.
Once I had kids, my terror of germs evaporated due to sheer necessity. Instead of boiling everything I learned that mom-spit was naturally anti-bacterial, and the five second rule applied to any surface including public restrooms on occasion. OK, that was a bit gross. The point is that we all survived, sure D1 had permanent hearing damage from repeat ear infections but that was probably due to day care rather than the fact that I may have occasionally licked her pacifier to clean it off. Probably.
Now, we are pretty middle of the road. We wash our hands and use hand sanitizer whenever encountering plague in the form of McDonald's Play places, but we pretty much leave the obsessing to the neat-niks.
Except this week.
The week before a family vacation I have reverted to full scale battle readiness. We have gone through so many gallons of hand sanitizer none of the kids have skin left on their hands. I have wiped all the paint off the knobs with Lysol wipes and we look like chemo patients when we go out, to the few things we couldn't skip, since I have made everybody wear masks.
Hey! You can't be too careful. It is January! In a winter climate! People are constantly testing our reflexes and spewing vicious germs by the lung full whenever we turn around. I am determined that we will go on this trip and be healthy.
One way or another.
If that means bringing scuba gear for the plane, so be it. When you see a family breathing through snorkels on the plane be sure and wave. Don't bother trying to shake our hands, though, you might have a cold.
Yummy.
FYI- it turned out to be more hygienic to lick the toilet than to touch either the door knob or the phone. YES! Cell phones are a good thing. At least you just put your own germs on your face...
Where was I going?
Oh right, now I remember. At the time I went through a brief period where I was obsessed with all things growing and didn't want to touch anything. Shaking hands was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. The thought of touching raw chicken would make me heave. It was a great, if short lived, diet. Eventually I got over it and went back to ignoring the microscopic world rather than seeing it as an army planning covert ops at every second.
Once I had kids, my terror of germs evaporated due to sheer necessity. Instead of boiling everything I learned that mom-spit was naturally anti-bacterial, and the five second rule applied to any surface including public restrooms on occasion. OK, that was a bit gross. The point is that we all survived, sure D1 had permanent hearing damage from repeat ear infections but that was probably due to day care rather than the fact that I may have occasionally licked her pacifier to clean it off. Probably.
Now, we are pretty middle of the road. We wash our hands and use hand sanitizer whenever encountering plague in the form of McDonald's Play places, but we pretty much leave the obsessing to the neat-niks.
Except this week.
The week before a family vacation I have reverted to full scale battle readiness. We have gone through so many gallons of hand sanitizer none of the kids have skin left on their hands. I have wiped all the paint off the knobs with Lysol wipes and we look like chemo patients when we go out, to the few things we couldn't skip, since I have made everybody wear masks.
Hey! You can't be too careful. It is January! In a winter climate! People are constantly testing our reflexes and spewing vicious germs by the lung full whenever we turn around. I am determined that we will go on this trip and be healthy.
One way or another.
If that means bringing scuba gear for the plane, so be it. When you see a family breathing through snorkels on the plane be sure and wave. Don't bother trying to shake our hands, though, you might have a cold.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Fred and Ginger
In case you haven't heard, Hubs gave me a bunch of ballroom dance lessons for Christmas. This is something I was delighted over, as I have wanted to learn how to REALLY dance for, well, for ever really.
Until I learned that our fab package included "practice dances."
Oh goody.
I immediately had post traumatic flashbacks to high school dances. So not a time I want to relive. I would rather forget high school ever existed, in fact. definitely NOT the glory days, for me. Being a painfully shy , incredibly awkward kid just smart enough to realize how geeky she was, was so not the high point of life. In fact a few decades and several cross country moves later, the wisdom of experience lets me know I probably over-estimated how horrible it was. Time heals, blah, blah. Mostly. Somewhat.
So can you blame me for thinking up excuses to the first several "practice" parties? I mean I didn't go to my own prom, why on earth would I want to start now?
Yeah, I know what you are thinking...then why take dance lessons? See, I am the type of person who wants to be elegant and graceful but in reality is the type who can break a leg standing still in a parking lot. Yeah, the one who clearly was standing in the popcorn line when God passed out grace. But, I figured, once I mastered the basics, IF I master the basics, I would love to be able to dance...someday. You now, the day that comes right after the 12th of probably never. But it is fun and good exercise so I was perfectly happy in PRIVATE lessons.
The dance was so far beyond my comfort level there isn't even a scale that high. Get all dressed up in formal attire and then learn a dance with a whole group of strangers, all of whom clearly have been dancing for years. Plus due to Hubs never being on time for anything, arrive late and miss the first set of instructions. Oh, and be pushed into the advanced group since the beginner class was full. Nope, no room for disaster here. Being spread-eagled on a delivery table naked with your junk wide open for a room full of medical students to watch another guy reach into your pelvis up to his elbow was less embarrassing. At least having a baby doesn't require heels that cripple you. Plus you can usually score drugs.
Much like high school, at least for us geeks, a "practice party" must be done sober.
After suffering through most of the lesson I finally quit since there was as much chance of mastering the Viennese waltz in 30 minutes as there was of my playing professional football. As a linebacker. So I quietly ducked out and wished for Scotty to please beam me up!
Alas, once the lesson portion was over they opened up the floor to actual dancing. Almost immediately Hubs was snagged by some lady and off they whirled. Fred, unlike me, does not suffer from performance anxiety. He is perfectly at home in situations like this. Of course the only thing worse than getting asked to dance is NOT getting asked, so as I was weighing the odds of stepping out and spending the rest of the night doing something very mature like hiding in the car, my instructor Isaac stepped up and asked me to dance. I politely declined and explained with a grin that my instructor hadn't shown me this dance yet. To which he grinned and held out his hand. "Right, that's what I'm going to do." Oh crap! My "I don't know this dance" excuse wouldn't work on my instructor! Now what to do???
While I was wondering whether to fake appendicitis or actually break a leg, I forgot to panic and as usual he was so calm and easy going, that before I knew it he had me doing the Cha-cha. Sort of.
Despite one utterly humiliating dance with the visiting instructor when he begged me to quit trying and just walk backward, the night ended on a mostly positive note. I only had two smashed toes, and my pride had only been battered to a pulp, probably not a terminal injury, so all in all, I can't wait to do it again.
When you know where freezes, that is!
Until I learned that our fab package included "practice dances."
Oh goody.
I immediately had post traumatic flashbacks to high school dances. So not a time I want to relive. I would rather forget high school ever existed, in fact. definitely NOT the glory days, for me. Being a painfully shy , incredibly awkward kid just smart enough to realize how geeky she was, was so not the high point of life. In fact a few decades and several cross country moves later, the wisdom of experience lets me know I probably over-estimated how horrible it was. Time heals, blah, blah. Mostly. Somewhat.
So can you blame me for thinking up excuses to the first several "practice" parties? I mean I didn't go to my own prom, why on earth would I want to start now?
Yeah, I know what you are thinking...then why take dance lessons? See, I am the type of person who wants to be elegant and graceful but in reality is the type who can break a leg standing still in a parking lot. Yeah, the one who clearly was standing in the popcorn line when God passed out grace. But, I figured, once I mastered the basics, IF I master the basics, I would love to be able to dance...someday. You now, the day that comes right after the 12th of probably never. But it is fun and good exercise so I was perfectly happy in PRIVATE lessons.
The dance was so far beyond my comfort level there isn't even a scale that high. Get all dressed up in formal attire and then learn a dance with a whole group of strangers, all of whom clearly have been dancing for years. Plus due to Hubs never being on time for anything, arrive late and miss the first set of instructions. Oh, and be pushed into the advanced group since the beginner class was full. Nope, no room for disaster here. Being spread-eagled on a delivery table naked with your junk wide open for a room full of medical students to watch another guy reach into your pelvis up to his elbow was less embarrassing. At least having a baby doesn't require heels that cripple you. Plus you can usually score drugs.
Much like high school, at least for us geeks, a "practice party" must be done sober.
After suffering through most of the lesson I finally quit since there was as much chance of mastering the Viennese waltz in 30 minutes as there was of my playing professional football. As a linebacker. So I quietly ducked out and wished for Scotty to please beam me up!
Alas, once the lesson portion was over they opened up the floor to actual dancing. Almost immediately Hubs was snagged by some lady and off they whirled. Fred, unlike me, does not suffer from performance anxiety. He is perfectly at home in situations like this. Of course the only thing worse than getting asked to dance is NOT getting asked, so as I was weighing the odds of stepping out and spending the rest of the night doing something very mature like hiding in the car, my instructor Isaac stepped up and asked me to dance. I politely declined and explained with a grin that my instructor hadn't shown me this dance yet. To which he grinned and held out his hand. "Right, that's what I'm going to do." Oh crap! My "I don't know this dance" excuse wouldn't work on my instructor! Now what to do???
While I was wondering whether to fake appendicitis or actually break a leg, I forgot to panic and as usual he was so calm and easy going, that before I knew it he had me doing the Cha-cha. Sort of.
Despite one utterly humiliating dance with the visiting instructor when he begged me to quit trying and just walk backward, the night ended on a mostly positive note. I only had two smashed toes, and my pride had only been battered to a pulp, probably not a terminal injury, so all in all, I can't wait to do it again.
When you know where freezes, that is!
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Tinsel Town Packing
The last of the Christmas decorations are down in the house and everything is shoved into, I mean packed up into, closets once again.
Of course our super obnoxiously bright and musical lights are still going strong. Yeah, we are those people. Like you didn't know that already, right?
Anyway, as much as I enjoy getting all the glitter and decorations up there is something very satisfying about putting it away as well. Probably because it is the only project that actually gets completely done at our house. Usually most things get sort of done, or done with what my grandma used to call a "lick and a prayer." Which near as I can figure means you do a pathetic job and pray nobody notices, or at least hope they pretend like they don't.
Christmas de-decorating is like pregnancy. It either is Christmas or it isn't. It is a finite job. Unlike laundry which reproduces aerobically thereby insuring that if there is oxygen available dirty clothes are reproducing faster than viruses on a dirty sink. You NEVER do all the laundry. It is impossible. I know. I tried. The kids still talk about the time they weren't allowed to get out of the tub for 5 hours just so I could say there was NO dirty laundry. Anywhere. Same goes for dishes. There is always a cup or spoon lurking around just waiting for the wash cycle to be more than 1/2 done to pop out and sneer at you. Dusting is so pointless I don't even attempt to keep up. We just double up on Claritin in this house.
Right. Now that I have literally and figuratively aired the dirty laundry I can get to the point. While I enjoy the return of "normal" as much as the next person I always hate when people yank down everything 16 minutes after unwrapping the presents. Heathens get a free pass since they may not know about Epiphany or why you are supposed to leave everything up until Jan 6th.
But people start putting stuff up mid-October so no wonder they get sick of it. In our fast paced life everything is hurry, hurry, do-ahead. Retail stores live in terror that we might not over spend on junk we don't need and thus they seldom wait til one holiday is over before attempting to separate us from our money for the next one. I wonder what would happen if we all boycotted stores that put up displays more than 1 month ahead?
Next up-my views on world peace, economics, and nutrition. That way when I rule the world you will know what to expect.
Also I will post the address where you can send letters to me once I am committed.
Of course our super obnoxiously bright and musical lights are still going strong. Yeah, we are those people. Like you didn't know that already, right?
Anyway, as much as I enjoy getting all the glitter and decorations up there is something very satisfying about putting it away as well. Probably because it is the only project that actually gets completely done at our house. Usually most things get sort of done, or done with what my grandma used to call a "lick and a prayer." Which near as I can figure means you do a pathetic job and pray nobody notices, or at least hope they pretend like they don't.
Christmas de-decorating is like pregnancy. It either is Christmas or it isn't. It is a finite job. Unlike laundry which reproduces aerobically thereby insuring that if there is oxygen available dirty clothes are reproducing faster than viruses on a dirty sink. You NEVER do all the laundry. It is impossible. I know. I tried. The kids still talk about the time they weren't allowed to get out of the tub for 5 hours just so I could say there was NO dirty laundry. Anywhere. Same goes for dishes. There is always a cup or spoon lurking around just waiting for the wash cycle to be more than 1/2 done to pop out and sneer at you. Dusting is so pointless I don't even attempt to keep up. We just double up on Claritin in this house.
Right. Now that I have literally and figuratively aired the dirty laundry I can get to the point. While I enjoy the return of "normal" as much as the next person I always hate when people yank down everything 16 minutes after unwrapping the presents. Heathens get a free pass since they may not know about Epiphany or why you are supposed to leave everything up until Jan 6th.
But people start putting stuff up mid-October so no wonder they get sick of it. In our fast paced life everything is hurry, hurry, do-ahead. Retail stores live in terror that we might not over spend on junk we don't need and thus they seldom wait til one holiday is over before attempting to separate us from our money for the next one. I wonder what would happen if we all boycotted stores that put up displays more than 1 month ahead?
Next up-my views on world peace, economics, and nutrition. That way when I rule the world you will know what to expect.
Also I will post the address where you can send letters to me once I am committed.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Sugar and Spice
Thanks to the miracle of modern antibiotics the Great Bladder Infection has been fixed. Now that I am back up to speed it is time to start the annual sugar-a-thon known as Christmas Cookie baking. My sister is coming into help (a project of this magnitude requires reinforcements!) but several recipes have to be started ahead of time. Plus there is only one oven thus 3 days and nights are needed to accomplish the whole enchilada.
Pray for us.
Pray that my kitchen appliances that are vintage 1960 can handle the strain.
Pray that I didn't forgot crucial ingredients that require a mad dash to Hades, aka, the grocery store.
Pray that I don't get so fat that I have to turn sideways to get through to the table where all the cookies are lying in stately splendor.
Pray that the kids don't spontaneously combust from sugar overdose.
And most of all pray for all the people who live in places where they can't even begin to imagine a country so rich in blessings that the weight of food literally sags the dining room table.
Pray for us.
Pray that my kitchen appliances that are vintage 1960 can handle the strain.
Pray that I didn't forgot crucial ingredients that require a mad dash to Hades, aka, the grocery store.
Pray that I don't get so fat that I have to turn sideways to get through to the table where all the cookies are lying in stately splendor.
Pray that the kids don't spontaneously combust from sugar overdose.
And most of all pray for all the people who live in places where they can't even begin to imagine a country so rich in blessings that the weight of food literally sags the dining room table.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Twisted Christmas Shopping
I am not one to fight crowds. I am more the research the bargains at home and then dispatch Hubs to fight to the death-er-I mean find-the bargains. This year WalMart pulled a fast one and screwed up the Black Friday thing for me and so while I had planned to be completely done with my shopping, in fact I haven't started yet.
It is now 1 week til Christmas.
Is Kwanzaa later, because at this point I would consider changing holidays if it bought me more time. Anybody know when Festivus is?
OK, we are probably committed to Christmas at this point. Which means I had to get off my lazy butt and get it done. Having exhausted my Amazon-ability; everything else on my list requires shopping in an actual store, I headed out. Oh goody.
God blessed me with, as me call it in nursing, a 12 hour bladder. I can usually do an entire outing without having to brave disgusting public restrooms.
So how funny is it that I have to brave insane last minute shoppers, cranky with cold, and jacked up on holiday sugar, when I have a bladder infection? Me, who seldom, if ever, has to pee in public is now doing more toilet testing than a bored toddler.
Good times.
I had to stop at McDonald's before hitting the mall, and still had to dash off between mens' wear and household items. I had to slip into the john before tackling the boutique begged for by my precocious daughter. WalMart was having its usual super-sized crowds and inadequate checkers and I had to break off twice. Ick. Their bathrooms aren't great in the best of times but extra shoppers and slush is not a pleasant combination. In fact, they were so nasty for a -brief!-minute I considered stocking up on Depends.
Due to the constraints of an angry bladder I only accomplished half my list. Which means I get to go back out and brave the Madness again.
Is it better to wait until my Cipro kicks in, even though it will bring me closer to the big day, and thus escalate the pushy crowds/obnoxiousness factor or take my chances with unknown bathrooms?
To pee or not to pee, that is the question.
It is now 1 week til Christmas.
Is Kwanzaa later, because at this point I would consider changing holidays if it bought me more time. Anybody know when Festivus is?
OK, we are probably committed to Christmas at this point. Which means I had to get off my lazy butt and get it done. Having exhausted my Amazon-ability; everything else on my list requires shopping in an actual store, I headed out. Oh goody.
God blessed me with, as me call it in nursing, a 12 hour bladder. I can usually do an entire outing without having to brave disgusting public restrooms.
So how funny is it that I have to brave insane last minute shoppers, cranky with cold, and jacked up on holiday sugar, when I have a bladder infection? Me, who seldom, if ever, has to pee in public is now doing more toilet testing than a bored toddler.
Good times.
I had to stop at McDonald's before hitting the mall, and still had to dash off between mens' wear and household items. I had to slip into the john before tackling the boutique begged for by my precocious daughter. WalMart was having its usual super-sized crowds and inadequate checkers and I had to break off twice. Ick. Their bathrooms aren't great in the best of times but extra shoppers and slush is not a pleasant combination. In fact, they were so nasty for a -brief!-minute I considered stocking up on Depends.
Due to the constraints of an angry bladder I only accomplished half my list. Which means I get to go back out and brave the Madness again.
Is it better to wait until my Cipro kicks in, even though it will bring me closer to the big day, and thus escalate the pushy crowds/obnoxiousness factor or take my chances with unknown bathrooms?
To pee or not to pee, that is the question.
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