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Welcome to Manopause--one man's experience of mid-life changes and the wild and wacky world of ageing gracefully. Bring your cane and join me here every day for another dose of levity and linament.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Inside the Men's Room

Men are always wanting to know: What's inside the women's restroom, and why do women visit this room in clusters, and why do they stay so long?  I used to ask these questions until my wife admitted that most women's restrooms have large screen TVs tuned to the Oxygen Network as well a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica and The Collected Works of Edith Wharton.  Now the women's restroom is no longer a mystery to me, and it all makes perfect sense. I no longer check the time when my wife excuses herself at the restaurant and tells me she will "be right back."  I just order another steak and flirt with the waitresses.

But naturally, women want to know what goes on inside a men's restroom, too.  Men, of course, have signed a pact never to reveal the secrets of this space, but I'm breaking the taboo in this blog.  My voice must be heard.  And women have a right to know.

Here's the truth.

First, picture a small confined space about the size of a British phone booth and then imagine this space being shared by twelve men (two of them over 450 pounds).  This imagine should form the centerpiece of your vision. 

Now, given that confined munchkinland, imagine the floor of a Waffle House restaurant built in the 1950s and several pieces of stained-and-broken porcelain that have been salvaged from a junkyard by a guy named Greaser.  This is where we do our business--and most of the doors on the various stalls don't lock--meaning that we have to have protracted conversations with each other about the menu, or sports or the latest chic flick.  We do this sitting down.  Some men sing songs as they go about their work.  "Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho" is a popular tune, as is "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" or "I've Got the World on a String."  Some men exchange business cards and wash their hands afterwards.

These experiences can be found in most of the upper-crust men's rooms in swanky hotels and five-star restaurants.  The best ones also have a condom-dispensing machine where one can make evening plans and, for an extra fifty cents, also pick up a pack of Juicy Fruit or a handful of Gummy Bears.  Most of these machines also double as ATMs and a fellow can usually run into a guy named Chuck or Walter making change from a fifty.

It is important to note, also, that men's rooms rarely have paper towels.  There is a paper towel dispenser, but it is usually filled with slips of paper containing women's phone numbers and/or phone numbers etched into the side with an Exacto knife or a felt-tipped marker. Some of these numbers lead to actual women, but most lead to jail.

Women should also picture the men's restroom as a utilitarian space.  Men don't usually bring makeup or soft drinks along with them, though some have been spotted adjusting their toupees or trying to rub catsup out of their apricot-colored ascots while sipping a Manhattan.  Others might pop pills.  But most men don't linger.

Finally, women should not be distressed if a husband doesn't return from the men's room.  Not to worry. He's likely engaged in a pick-up game of urinal darts or he might be in the kitchen making small talk with the chef.  Under no circumstances should you assume he's met another woman or is hanging out around the women's restroom hoping to secure the latest copy of Oprah magazine.  And if your husband is older, or if his prostate is flaring, don't forget that he might need to be in the men's room for hours.  Give him a little time and some leeway and he will likely meet you in the parking lot after he's picked up a toothpick and an after-dinner mint.

And don't worry.  I'm sure he's washed his hands. 

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