Other bloggers have done roundups of last night’s Blogfest. Nobody mentioned the charming sign on the ladies’ room door at Wild Wings. The picture is grainy, but I think you can see that this bathroom is designated for “Hot Chicks.” I had to pause at the door of the needed room and decide if I should:
1. wait until I got home to use the restroom,
2. ask an employee where the middle aged has-beens bathroom is located,
3. use the men’s room OR
4. break the rules and use the “hotty” potty.

After three glasses of tea, waiting wasn’t a viable option. I was the only person in the room who, instead of fixing their hair, putting on clean clothes and looking their best before going out on Saturday night, chose instead to go straight from a couple of hours in a stinky laundromat to a night on the town. I was too embarrassed to make eye contact with an employee, let alone ask the way to the back of the bus, so I passed on the second choice. The other customers were far too sober to find option number three acceptable, so I was stuck with option number four.

I dashed in and used my mom super powers to be lightning quick. I would have expected something more impressive to pamper the “hotties” than the traditional restaurant ladies’ room. There wasn’t a couch for sitting with your potty partner and discussing your dates for the evening. There were no full length mirrors to check your spray-on tan. All they had was a television broadcasting golf. Golf! I finished washing my hands and snuck out of the off-limits room. I thought I made it back to the table safely, but since we were literally run out of the restaurant a few minutes later, I fear that my crime didn’t go unnoticed. I apologize to the rest of the bloggers for ending our evening. Next time, I will drink less tea.