Why do women travel to the bathroom in pairs? My latest epiphany revealed the secret, one so terrifying that I wished I’d never questioned women’s dreaded double-trip to the can.
It was a familiar scene at the restaurant. My wife and her friend had just excused themselves to go to the bathroom, leaving me and faithful sidekick Burt alone at the table.
“Burt, can I ask you a personal question?” I began.
“Why do women travel to the bathroom in pairs?”
He took a deep breath, scratched his armpit, and shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“I don’t either,” I growled. “What’s happening in there? Are they conspiring to overthrow us?”
“I believe we’re subservient already.”
“Yes, good point. Still, it’s a mystifying mystery, and the only way to do that is to experience it ourselves.”
His eyebrows rose. “You mean…”
“I mean you and I are going to the bathroom. Right now. Together.”
This epiphany falls into the if-you-can’t-beat-’em-join-em category. By recreating the double-trip to the can, Burt and I could uncover the cryptic secrets that had perplexed mankind since the dawn of mankind.
The thought of going to the bathroom with another guy was unsettling. I’ve always treasured my trips to the john. These ten-minute retreats allow me to gather my thoughts, check my nose for protuberant nostril hairs, and hopefully read some racy graffiti.
This would be different. With faithful sidekick Burt, I would have to break free from my solitary routine.
It had to be done. The mystery was to be revealed. But little did I dream of the consequences.
The Line, The Potpourri, The Dreaded Answer
Immediately, I learned why there is always a perennial line outside the women’s restroom. Only one stall was open, and so I had to wait while Burt bellied up to the urinal.
Next, I discovered why there is potpourri in every women’s rest room. Relieving bodily fluids with a friend can yield a horrifying stench. So as to not jeopardize the friendship, you must keep some perfumed substances within arm’s length.
These discoveries did not reveal the true purpose for the ladies’ tandem trips. I was still baffled, until we returned to the table.
There, my wife and Burt’s wife had returned. They were laughing and chatting away. I realized that when they’d left to go to the bathroom, they’d also exhibited the same behavior.
This was quite the contrary to the interaction between Burt and myself, which involved brief mentions of the Packers offensive line and quips about the poor beer selection on the menu. But nothing involving chattiness and laughter.
No, the mystery of the double trip to the bathroom was suddenly clear to me. They went in twos because in the ladies room, we weren’t there. And now that we had travelled to the men’s room in twos, they were happy to return to table because once again, we weren’t there.
“Did you enjoy your trip to the bathroom with Burt?” my wife asked.
“Isn’t it fun?” Burt’s wife smiled.
“You two should do it more often!” my wife declared, and the women clinked their wine glasses with a conspiratorial glint in their eyes.
For the rest of the dinner, they were gleeful, Burt and I were glumful. Sometimes there are mysteries that are better left unsolved.