I can safely say that I have gone number two in a public bathroom only a few times in my life. I hate public restrooms. They are filthy and riddled with germs and bacteria. I would always wait to go home and enjoy the safety of my porcelain throne, away from the amebic dysentery that could jump on your pant leg in the restroom at Burger King.  I always had control over where and when I wanted to use the bathroom, that was until I had kids. If I had to go bad enough, I could leave and go home, or hold it and suffer the prairie-dogging effects and stomach pains. I understand that some people are public poopers, but that is not my choice. I choose to hold my load for private dumping. My views on public pooping have only gotten worse since having children.

I can vividly remember the first time I had to take my first-born to a public restroom to take a shit. He was only 15 months old. I was scared to death to take him to the restroom. Having a public restroom phobia I was a good first time Mom who was fully prepared with one of those portable potty seats that fits right into the toilet. I had time to sanitize the seat, the toilet, the grab bar, and I eagerly waited for him to go. We were at Target, and their bathrooms are usually very clean and of course I used the handicapped stall so I had room to stand in there with him. He went about his business and I was pleased with the results. Maybe my fears of public pooping were irrational. Public pooping wasn’t so bad. Target was a safe bathroom and I had all the proper equipment for an effective mission. Perhaps I had misjudged public poopers.

Now, let’s skip ahead a few years to having two children that need to use the bathroom at the same time. Number one and number two both needed to go number TWO. We were on a road trip to Lego Land and were in the middle of nowhere on a backwoods road. We came up to a Citgo station and quickly parked. Both kids were crying that they couldn’t hold the shit demons in any longer. I jumped out of the van and I ran into the gas station with both poop filled toddlers in my arms. We approach the bathroom door, and the smell hit you like a ton bricks. I opened the door and it was like a scene out of a horror movie. There was shit and piss on the floor, a condom machine on the wall, and only a roll of paper towels. I no longer had my nifty portable potty seat. I put down number one and asked him to hold onto my leg for dear life and not touch anything. I tried to clean off the toilet seat and line it with paper towel so number two could sit and do a number two.  As soon as I put her on the toilet she reaches down and touched the seat! “STOP! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!” I screamed like a lunatic. Once she finished, I swapped out the paper towel and put number one on the toilet. As he was grunting and pushing number two decided to leave the safety of my leg and tried to put a penny she found on the floor into the condom machine. “Candy, Mommy?” she cries as she tried to place the filthy penny into the coin slot of the “raincoat” dispenser. I was right. Public pooping is like war. I almost didn’t survie this battle.

Moving on a few more years down the road…..We were out to dinner at a restaurant with the entire family. As usual we ordered the kids meals first so they could shove food in their pie holes and stay calm until our food got to the table.  Just as my dinner was placed in front of me I hear those four awful words…..”I have to go” states my middle child, “Me too” chimes in number three. “Can you guys wait?” I asked hoping that a miracle would occur and we would make it home to avoid bathroom hell fire. No such luck and I get up from the table and escort these two shit bags into the restroom. I placed number two in the stall next to us as we occupied the handicap stall. I do my best to clean the seat and set him up so he doesn’t touch anything. He is a marathon pooper and can take in upwards of 10-15 minutes to finish the project. Once completed he jumps off the toilet and proceeds to tell me the names of the turds. He likes to name his feces, what can I say. So before I flush he says, “Bye Dad, bye Mom, and so on. As we exit the stall to wash our hands I see my daughter standing at the door. “Did you wash your hands?” I asked. “No” she states. “Well, did you poop?” I asked. “Yes I pooped, but I didn’t wipe, so I don’t have to wash my hands.” WTF, are you kidding me. I stood there in awe, speechless, but also hungry. “Wash your hands” I stated and we went back to the table. What is one more pair of shit stained underwear to wash. The war rages on.

It seems like every time we leave the house someone has to take a shit. I am not sure why anyone would want to use a public restroom. As I stated before, they are the epitome of nastiness and I do everything that I can to steer clear of them. All three of my kids are equipped with poop-dar, it is a radar like ability that can detect every public bathroom within a five-mile radius. Unfortunately for me my three kids think that a public restroom is a playground and want to stop at each one that we see. They swing from the doors, play with the locks, touch the toilet seat, and wrap toilet paper around their heads like Egyptian mummies. I have thousands of dollars’ worth of toys at my house, yet a public bathroom is more appealing to these rat bastards. I am looking forward to the day when I can return my frequent public-pooper card. I am a firm believer in private pooping and I will throw a fucking party when all of my kids can go to the bathroom on their own.