Where, Oh Where Has She Gone?

How often can you go to a friend’s house, settle in, then abruptly get up from your seat, walk to another room, sit down, relax and be gone as long as you want?

How awkward is that, for the most part?  Won’t people wonder where you’ve gone?  What you’re doing?  Why you left the party/bridge game/ book club?   Are you scoping out the closets? Making sure the windows are clean?  Admiring the jewels?  Trying on some shoes?

No, no, no and no.  

As long as your destination is the Powder Room, the Half Bath, the Loo, The Ladies’ or whatever you choose to call it, you’re welcome to stay put as long as you like.  No one’s going to come knocking on the door.

A good hostess might provide magazines to look at.  Surely there’ll be some nice smelling soaps.  Fresh towels.  A grandmother might have a little step stool for the kiddies to stand on.  

Sometimes the walls are papered with pithy sayings or funny jokes.  Or pictures of children, animals, hobbies.   Maybe some crazy-wild wallpaper.   Powder Rooms seem to be concentrated, condensed reflections of the people who live there.

I can remember nearly every Powder Room I’ve ever been in.  I know exactly where they’re located in my friends’ houses.  I know what’s on the walls.  I know the color scheme, the ambience.  

I also think I’ve been cooped up for too long. When I start mooning over Powder Rooms, something’s seriously wrong. It’s time to get a grip. That may take a while, but don’t worry about me. I’m happily sitting down, enjoying some peace and quiet. Gathering some energy. In that “little room.” Just down the hall. Please don’t knock. I’ll come out when I’m good and ready.

And not a minute before.