On Men in The Lady’s Room

I try not to weigh in too much on political issues here.  There’s enough division and finger-pointing in this world without me adding to the noise.  I like to focus on more meaningful things, like how to make the perfect chocolate chip cookie or do-it-yourself art cards.  But I have to break my silence now on The Bathroom Issue.  You know the one.

Last weekend, we found ourselves at an Ordination Mass in Louisville.  It was a beautiful service, but that’s not the important thing today.  The important thing is that we had to go to the bathroom.  You see, Louisville is an hour from our home.  The Mass had been long, and then there was a buffet line, and lunch on the lawn, and I did not think Evie would make it through a long ride home, too, so Meg and I set out to find a bathroom for the little ones.  Henry wouldn’t have minded a fresh diaper, either!  It took a lot longer to locate than I’d expected, and when we finally found a helpful parishioner to point us in the right direction, there was already somebody else using the changing table.

I waved Meg and Evie into a stall, while Henry and I leaned against the wall to wait our turn.  Suddenly, I realized that, in this sea of unfamiliar faces, I knew this person!  “Oh, hello!” I said.  “I haven’t seen you since your wedding!  Your daughter is beautiful.”  And we chatted about babies and family while he finished up.  At last, he left to find his wife, freeing up the changing table for Henry and I.

It was hours before I realized the full meaning of the incident.  “Davey,” I said, “I forgot to tell you that I ran into Jack* in the ladies’ room today, and apparently, I am completely unfazed when I actually find a man in the women’s room.”

So there you have it.

*The name has been changed to protect the innocent.