A Tale of Two Shitties

The devil went down to Georgia and he took himself a shit.

As some of my peoples already know, my New Year’s Eve experience was a bit on the odd side with a healthy splash of disturbing. In fact, the oddity was so tenacious, it made its way into my New Year’s Day before I could escape the hell that is round on the ends and high in the middle (O-Hi-O.)

When the hubby and I awoke in the mid-afternoon gloom of January 1st, we decided to skedaddle as quickly as possible. Before we could leave, our hosts got up and insisted on taking us out for brunch. Being the suckers we are for free food, we relented and did go. They took us to a quaint little mom and pop greasy spoon that had all the fixings for soothing hung-over heads and regretful hearts. Chicken fried steak it is!

After this restorative repast, I needed to relieve myself of some of the coffee and toxins I had acquired over the past tumultuous 24 hours. After nearly scaring the waitress to death to ask where the potty is, apparently I move with cat-like stealth, I made my way to the back of the greasy spoon as directed. There, to my surprise, was a bathroom with one of the more confusing features I have yet to witness, and mind you, I’ve been to Europe and Southeastern Kentucky. The potty was a one-room deal with a locking door, no stalls and, get this, TWO TOILETS – side by side. I assure you, one of them was not a bidet.

Of course, my mind instantly starts racing, contemplating the possibilities for such an arrangement. Why spend the money to put two toilets in a one-room bathroom and provide no stalls? The only conclusion I could come up with is that it must be for the purpose of dueling. Yes, that’s right, dueling shits. Why else would you want to sit one foot away from another person on the can? Why would you want to be able to squat and look someone else straight in the eye? It must be so they can see your poker face. I can really find no other logical explanation for such a setup. Also, the toilet paper was quilted and peach colored, both holders. That is the true mark of a place for professional pleasure pooping. Of this, I am certain.