Scarred for life

We got back from Florida last night and I have never been so glad to be back in my house. Somehow both Lunchboy and I thought that escaping the clutches of elderly drivers, rural sprawl and alligators meant that our Christmas experience had blessedly ended, until I woke up this morning with his stomach flu. Now I am parked on the couch with a blanket, fuzzy socks, and clear access to the bathroom.

Despite the flu, we had to go to the hotel tonight to do the food tasting and choose linens, etc. Rescheduling wasn't an option simply because our wedding planner, who we'd never met before tonight, has been very difficult to get ahold of and I had a real fear that backing out of tonight's tasting would mean that we'd be choosing hors d'oeuvres the night before the wedding. So to the hotel we went.

In between tasting courses, I made strategic trips to the ladies room, becoming more feverish as the night proceeded. Perhaps this explains why, on my third not-so-subtle flight from the dining room, I blundered my way into the closest restroom, which just happened to be the men's room. The guy at the urinals seemed both shocked and confused, but he cheerily pointed out that because he was at a urinal, I was not in fact in the ladies room. About face. Exunt.

Strangely, it wasn't my first time surprising a guy in the loo this weekend. On the flight down to Fort Myers, I went to the back of the plane and, seeing that the little sign on the rest room was green and said "Vacant," I opened the door. The ten-year old boy on the toilet wasn't amused. Maybe the lock was stuck or he didn't know that he had to slide the little lever over to the right? Either way, I had a feeling that it was one of those moments I'd forget about in a few days but would stick with him for years. And I felt badly for that. When he came out, I made sure not to look at him so he wouldn't be any more embarrassed.