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You’ve just undone your perfectly placed waist strap and shed the 19.8 kilos that seems eternally attached to your ever more hunched back. Your butt barely touches the empty seat so strategically placed next to the only outlet in the terminal, when it hits you.
You have to pee.
The white triangle woman beckons from just across the hall and you glance around at your fellow passengers. Are any of them trusting enough not to report your entirely non-explosive luggage to the nearest security?
But alas, you’ve been trained by the security obsessed society you’re a product of to know you can’t leave unattended baggage. So, you heave and you ho and you hoist your burden back to its home upon your shoulders. You abandon the dream of a fully charged phone and just hope that the stall is big enough for you and your tortoise shell.
Then one day you book two tickets instead of one, and just when you’re starting to wonder if this new added burden is worth the weight, it hits you.
You have to pee.
You glance over at your travel companion knowing that they know how non-explosive your baggage is and you don’t think twice before you leap up. You practically float across the terminal you feel so light and when you close the toilet door you wonder when they started making the stalls so spacious. You sit upon your throne, calm and relaxed knowing that today a fully charged phone is more than just a dream.
That night you’re just drifting off to sleep, dreaming of all the different menu items you can order now that you have someone to share them with. Cheese platters, meat samplers, sushi plates and seafood dishes dance through your brain like little sugarplum fairies when it happens.
My mom and I in Paris
They start to snore.