I have TB. No, not the chronic-cough-with-blood-tinged-sputum-clogging-my-lungs kind. God, no.
I'll go again.
I have a TB. Tiny Bladder.
And this condition led me to stumble across an earth-shattering discovery.
I think, by some permutation and combination in nature, there comes to exist, for each one of us, what I like to call a bladder-mate.
And I have found mine.
It's true.
I joined this new workplace - little over 3 months ago. The building is designed all funny.
There is *one* restroom for ALL the women. Albeit its huge and pretty, it's just the one.
There's about three different offices here in our building - ours, one other and a Tommy Hilfiger design studio.
In the last three months, every time I have had to pee-pee, I have rushed out the office, into the restroom and come to a dead halt just at the sign reminding everyone that behind that door lies a place where "Women" could walk in and relieve themselves in order to be able to breathe again without wetting their trousers and DEFINITELY NOT for twisting over in agony and letting it all go right there. Of the latter happening, there was the more chance.
It was one balmy Thursday. Waiting outside the girls' room, I was pacifying my fully full bladder screaming inconsolably like a baby that hasn't been changed in hours. And then it happened. My mystery loo-occupier stepped out. I barely registered her face and dashed in. After a mighty deluge, my brain started working. She was cute. And taaaaaallllllll. Probably Delhi chick.
Three times over the next three days, she was in there before I. Three times over the next five days I stepped out of the loo and found myself staring straight at her. It's never, ever anyone else, damnit. *how the fuck?*
Then there's that mischievous 'it's-you-again look' she gives me with a smile.
Why does she give me that mischievous 'it's-you-again look' with a smile?
Oh my god, I think I have a girl crush on her. It's either that or the exotic fruity-floral perfume she floods the chamber with.
I was so weirded out about how this could keep happening. One day, as she stepped out the main door just as I was stepping in, I said to her with an incredible smirk "Our urinary bladders are in perfect sync!"
What I'd said to her actually sounded like "aahr urhyjry blahdeh byahin puffit sink!"
I know this because it rang in my head three and a half times after.
Dannng.
That perfume again.
After this, nearly every single time I have randomly wandered off to the loo - sometimes idly replying to a flood of texts, other times racking my brains for a presentation idea - I have always - surely and without a miss - had to get past her.
I didn't dare say anything smart-ass about our chance encounters EVER again though.
The days she isn't in though [and I know this because a pervy colleague knows exactly where her desk is in her office and keeps track of her attendance] I have never had to wait out. A free pass. The restroom door is ajar... waiting, for me to step right in and take care of business as usual.
If this was NOT the "toilet"and we weren't both women, it would've made a rather cute how-I-met-your-mum-kinda-story to tell the kids.
But the fact remains that even with the "toilet" and the homosexual equation, it is still better than the story of How I Met Your Mother.
***
All this wee-wee talk has made my bladder full. No worries though.
The pervy colleague struck again.
She isn't in today, it seems, so I can hold it in till it gets real bad.
Erm and while still on the topic, what the fuck is this ridiculousness?
I cannot get over the product title to even consider what the bleddy instruction booklet might look like. Bwaaaahahahahaha!
But seriously, #weird.
***
I'll go again.
I have a TB. Tiny Bladder.
And this condition led me to stumble across an earth-shattering discovery.
I think, by some permutation and combination in nature, there comes to exist, for each one of us, what I like to call a bladder-mate.
And I have found mine.
It's true.
I joined this new workplace - little over 3 months ago. The building is designed all funny.
There is *one* restroom for ALL the women. Albeit its huge and pretty, it's just the one.
There's about three different offices here in our building - ours, one other and a Tommy Hilfiger design studio.
In the last three months, every time I have had to pee-pee, I have rushed out the office, into the restroom and come to a dead halt just at the sign reminding everyone that behind that door lies a place where "Women" could walk in and relieve themselves in order to be able to breathe again without wetting their trousers and DEFINITELY NOT for twisting over in agony and letting it all go right there. Of the latter happening, there was the more chance.
Three times over the next three days, she was in there before I. Three times over the next five days I stepped out of the loo and found myself staring straight at her. It's never, ever anyone else, damnit. *how the fuck?*
Then there's that mischievous 'it's-you-again look' she gives me with a smile.
Why does she give me that mischievous 'it's-you-again look' with a smile?
Oh my god, I think I have a girl crush on her. It's either that or the exotic fruity-floral perfume she floods the chamber with.
What I'd said to her actually sounded like "aahr urhyjry blahdeh byahin puffit sink!"
I know this because it rang in my head three and a half times after.
Dannng.
That perfume again.
After this, nearly every single time I have randomly wandered off to the loo - sometimes idly replying to a flood of texts, other times racking my brains for a presentation idea - I have always - surely and without a miss - had to get past her.
I didn't dare say anything smart-ass about our chance encounters EVER again though.
The days she isn't in though [and I know this because a pervy colleague knows exactly where her desk is in her office and keeps track of her attendance] I have never had to wait out. A free pass. The restroom door is ajar... waiting, for me to step right in and take care of business as usual.
If this was NOT the "toilet"and we weren't both women, it would've made a rather cute how-I-met-your-mum-kinda-story to tell the kids.
But the fact remains that even with the "toilet" and the homosexual equation, it is still better than the story of How I Met Your Mother.
***
All this wee-wee talk has made my bladder full. No worries though.
The pervy colleague struck again.
She isn't in today, it seems, so I can hold it in till it gets real bad.
Erm and while still on the topic, what the fuck is this ridiculousness?
I cannot get over the product title to even consider what the bleddy instruction booklet might look like. Bwaaaahahahahaha!
But seriously, #weird.
***
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