Angelina Jolie, The Chosen One, and Adventures in the Loo
By AngeleLafond on June 12, 2014
I've adopted so many bathroom stalls in my lifetime I'm like the Angelina Jolie of public restrooms. I'm sure I can manage to look hot and wholesome in one fell swoop, and apart from the height difference we're practically twins right? ....right? So maybe I have a bit more cellulite than she does, and maybe the boobage isn't quite so perky.
BUT! She has big lips... I have big lips. She has luscious long locks... I have frizzy, curly, brown ones that I can totally rock out if I tried. She's been known to carry her ex's blood around her neck and I'm - well - I've always been just a little bit weird. Somehow we both managed to get laid and even landed husbands! So we're totally twins... but I digress.
Going into a new restroom is like speed-dating for toilets, creating a list of maybes, possiblys, hell-nos, and a few good ones. The Chosen One will be clean, well-stocked, preferably near the back end of the restroom, and bonus points if the handicap stall fits the bill (if only for the extra breathing room). Sinks get the same once-over.
And just like that, I've added another notch on the restroom belt.
Every school, every restaurant, every hotel - heck even the darn Walmart has a nature call favorite; a 'one-minute-stand' if you will. Like a drunk-dialed booty call I gravitate to the same stall every. single. time I use this restroom. If said stall is occupied I end up leaving with naught but a modicum of dignity, having called on a sub-par 'C-List' stall.
The restroom by the high school cafeteria was 1st stall; in the history hallway ... 3rd one in. The mall - last one at the end; same for train station and Walmart. Middle stall at Lonestar. Casino - 2nd on the right or last on the left. This last conference? 3rd from the end. I could go on but it might get a little personal - so I'll spare you. You're welcome.
She collects babies like they're the newest WebKinz; I collect porcelain bassins not unlike a gaggle of drunk sorority sisters. A map depicting her humanitarian efforts would make a great 'Where In The World is Carmen San Diego' episode, while searching for blackheads on the landscape of my enlarged pores is like a Where's Waldo gone bad.
See? Practically twins. We may as well have been born holding hands.
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