When I’m about to remove my pants, It’s not a good time to try and make me solve your fucking riddles, Dan Brown.

Okay, here’s the deal.  I really am (SWEAR!) a reasonably intelligent human being.  I graduated from college with honors, and I, like, read and shit.  Furthermore, I have a really good sense of humor (SWEAR!), and I can laugh at just about anything (maybe that just makes me easy?).  That having been said, I have zero intelligence or humor when it comes to taking a public piss.

Okay, so, yes, I am not a superfan of dropping my pants in public (shaddup those of you who have seen me drunk), and touching flesh to porcelain without 5 layers of tissue between my tender haunches and the seat of ten-thousand asses.  And, yes, I do always flush with my feet (Hey, if you’re touching that thing after me, you’re the idiot, for a variety of reasons.), and turn on the faucets with one piece of paper towel, and then open the door to leave with a different one.  And, YES, I do usually follow this up with some sanitizer from my purse, but that stuff saves lives AND smells good.

Christ, now that I’m reading this…I need serious help.  Anyhoooo…

My real argument with public restrooms is when some joint, usually a restaurant, decides to cutely label their bathrooms with something other than “Men” and “Women”.  For reasons that are beyond me, and that completely refute any claims I make on being either smart and/or a good-time-girl, this shit completely freaks me out.

It doesn’t matter that I lived in friggin’ Germany, I will stand in the restroom hallway, panicked, second guessing myself like a motherfucker about whether I am, in fact, a Damen or Herren, and wondering why in the hell I wanted to eat schnitzel in the first place.  I don’t even care if they’ve included a picture of an actual senorita, with a Senorita sign, I will enter that room, slowly as all hell, eyes peeled for a urinal.

Worse…the VERY WORST…are the pithy, bullshit signs, usually at theme restaurants, that aren’t as obvious, and then I’m in a full-blown panic, trying to guess whether I’m a “Captain” or a “First Mate”, and whether they’re assessing me for gender or for actual leadership capacity, and all I wanted to do was fucking pee.  And who said I can’t be a “Caballero”?  I like horses…I’m good with a sword…frankly, this is Goddamned 2013, and if I want to defend Mexico or my hacienda, I think I should be afforded the same opportunity as any other person.

I think at this point, the best bet would be if someone just posted a sign that said, “Hey…you…yeah, the one with the red hair…this is the one you’re looking for,” but let’s be honest, even if they did…that would freak me out for completely different reasons.  *sigh*