Bathroom Epiphanies #702

April 24, 2012 § Leave a comment

I don’t know what it is about the bathroom.

But, major things seem to happen in there, don’t they?  My best crying is accomplished in that tiny space, the toilet has like 52 names or something ridiculous, I both sing and wail in the shower, let’s not even TALK about the Mile High Club (yeah…what?), and last week, in one of the fairly large ones by European standards, I had an epiphany.

A heckuva lot of us were out at this place called Propaganda.  It’s two flights down and feels a bit like a cellar with walls and ceilings and bathrooms covered in…well…Communist propaganda.  They are one of the three places in the city that I have found Maker’s Mark (hallelujah) and it happens to be right across the street from our campus.  And it was Amy’s birthday.  So, of course I went!

I love dancing.  I love it.  In high school, a group of us traveled over the bridge into downtown every Wednesday for hours of swing dancing.  An old friend, Elias, used to salsa dance with me on all of my front porches until the wee hours of the morning.  Music wasn’t even required.  They are some of my most favorite memories.

My hope is for children that will shake it with me in the kitchen and give me heart attacks as they leap from the rafters to do the biggest jeté they can muster.  And everytime folks want to go to a place with music and movin’, I am DOWN.  I’ll be a zombie the next day, I’ll go with you to Waffle House afterwards, there’s always caffeine.
I will go.  Always.

And then, I walked in to the bathroom at Propaganda.
As I looked at the disgusting floor of what must be my 600th bar, something clicked.  Dancing, I will always love you.  But clubs, with your filth and trolling men and obnoxious customers who drink to get trashed and not because they actually enjoy alcohol, I am over you.

Folks told me I would change while here.  I only kind of believed them.  This might be one of the biggest things to change and I think it’s all a part of both growing up and being prepped for momma-hood.

So, bring on the dim-lit cafés and their gorgeous wine lists.  Come with me for hours so I can hear all about you and how things are going.  Talk about wandering and laugh ’til we cry over things that are really really stupid.  Let’s go sit in a corner booth at a really cozy bar with tall windows and an amazing beer list.

You know.  Like The Raleigh Times.
3 days.


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