Sunday, March 29, 2009
I readily admit to having a K-mart bladder and often find myself wondering why there aren’t ever enough public toilets. It’s a well known fact that women need to go more frequently and take a lot longer in there than men do, so why is it then that venues don’t install more women’s than men’s? I reckon if men wore pantyhose, knickers, petticoats, suspender belts and skirts there’d probably be a lot more loos to go around. It’s okay for the blokes: a quick zip and a shake and they’re off, back in their seat for the second half of the show with the Crown Lager they managed to slip past the door bitch. (Bedak!) In the meantime, the girls have come to know about thirty women on a first-name basis. ‘No, go on Susan. You look really desperate.’ ‘No after you Karen, I think I can hang on a minute longer.’ ‘What the hell is she doing in there?’ ‘Does anyone out there have a tissue?...anyone? I’ve run out of loo paper damnit!’ ‘What the fuck is wrong with this hand-dryer and what’s that on your skirt?’ It really is an undignified scene as women groan loudly and tap dance with pained expressions when the warning bell goes off for the second half. And how many times have you raced for the loo, only to find the queue is still too long and decide just to hang on? Hugh Jackman could be stage dancing the hornpipe with Magda Szubanski in the nude and you’d barely even notice as you cross and uncross your knees, chew your nails and bite off your own wrist waiting for that blissful moment when the show ends and you can bolt for the loo once more. It was probably a good thing that I couldn’t sneak a beer into Felafel last Friday night. I may have missed the entire show!