Married . WithOUT Children |

Married . WithOUT Children

“Wow, THAT sure was a weird dream!” husband-head awoke with a start, his eyes wide as he looked at me.

But husband-head has strange thoughts in his head even when he’s NOT sleeping, so I wasn’t too surprised.

“What now?” I asked, rolling over. “You didn’t dream that french fries were chasing you again, did you?”

“No, I dreamt that I was in the men’s room and the receptacle on the wall looked like Mickey Mouse,” he started.

I sat up in bed to listen – this was going to be a good one. .

“It was a game and you had to hit it in the eye to start playing and lights and bells would go off and Mickey’s arms would go up and down. .”

I felt husband-head’s forehead to see if he was feverish.

“You mean, it was like an ARCADE in there?” I asked with concern.

“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “Although I’ve never seen a Mickey Mouse urinal before … but we always have stuff to do. .”

Like, other than what you’re SUPPOSED to be doing?

“In some places now, the little filter in the receptacle that holds the Sweet Tart looks like bin Laden’s face,” husband-head continued, telling me more information than I really wanted to know. “And a lot of facilities have the sports section taped to the wall. .”

“I thought `Sweet Tarts’ were those little candies we used to eat when we were kids,” I said, confused. “What are they doing in the men’s room?”

Husband-head looked at me as if I didn’t know ANYTHING. .

“And some places have chalk boards up on the wall with colored chalk so you can draw or write stuff,” he went on.

Michelangelo and Shakespeare would have been green with envy. .

For years, girls have been secretly jealous that boys can write their names in the snow and we can’t – but having a whole AMUSEMENT PARK in their private quarters wasn’t fair at all. .

“Who stays in the rest room long enough to read an ENTIRE sports story?” I demanded.

“You don’t necessarily read the whole thing,” he informed me. “It’s called `stall tactics.’ …”

Stall tactics?

“And sometimes there are different advertisements posted on the wall for us to read,” he explained.

“That’s not fair,” I complained. “We don’t get games or reading materials. All we get is a baby-changing shelf.”

Husband-head shrugged.

“Yeah, but you girls don’t have to stand next to each other,” he pointed out. “This gives us something to look at while we’re taking care of business.”

Then he lowered his voice.

“Nobody’s eyes are supposed to be wandering, you know,” he confided, as if letting me in on a deep, dark male secret.

It occurred to me then that I’d lived all this time without ever having any IDEA of the dynamics that went on in the boy’s room – and there was a lot more than smoking going on. .

“What else takes place in there?” I pressed. “Ballroom dance lessons? Chess tournaments?”

Husband-head looked defensive.

“Hey, at least we don’t bring a whole ENTOURAGE with us when we need to use the facilities!” he huffed. “What’s up with that?”

“So we can talk about you guys,” I said simply.

I thought about the chalkboard on the wall.

“What do you guys write about?” I asked.

“Oh, a variety of philosophical ponderings,” husband-head said evasively.

Yeah, right.

Then I had another thought.

“If all that takes place in the boy’s room, what goes on in the men’s locker room at the gym? …”

Heidi Rice’s column appears every Friday in the Post Independent.

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