Performance Anxiety

Okay, so I just read Robyn's blog and her glowing endorsement of the potential for my blog to keep you entertained. Talk about performance anxiety. This is almost as bad as standing at the communal urinal at the ball game with a dozen other men just waiting to see if your bladder will agree to release its contents. We've all been there at least once, haven't we. (Please say, "YES" - men only.) You're dancing all the way to the bathroom, finally get a spot to wedge in at the front of the queue, and the spigot won't turn on. Can't even look down to make sure everything's alright because the Unwritten Code of the Urinal dictates that you stare straight ahead and take an unusual interest in the square of wall directly in front of you. I understand that two guys made eye contact once durning half-time at a soccer match in England. It took three days, four police forces and seven fire brigades to clean up the rioting. I don't want to even consider what would happen if streams crossed.

I was about to say that you women have it easy 'cause you all get stalls and some degree of privacy unless someone needs you to spare a square, but I know better than to do that. I'd have dozens (okay, maybe three) of you reminding me of long lines and unsanitary toilet seats and no squares to spare. Now that's pressure.