Lately I can't step into the office bathroom without working myself up with an internal rants.
They start with "Y'all some grown-ass women..." then I freestyle a bit in the middle, and end with "I don't want to sit in your nasty pee sprinkle."
It reminds me of my old newspaper job, where a yellowed (ew) old sign hung on the back of the stall door since probably before I knew the alphabet:
"If you sprinkle/when you tinkle/be a sweetie/and wipe the seatie."
Oh, how I loathed that sign. It came to represent all the stuck-in-the-past ways and means of the newspaper. I was staring at that cutesy little poem-like creation on Monday morning when I should have been asleep like any self-respecting college student. I stared at it on Friday and Saturday nights instead of getting drunk, well, like, you know.
I stared at it for two and a half years and vowed to rip it down when I left. But on my last day I was so overcome with relief about escaping that I gave it a pardon from the govenor.
I think it's time for some big-city girls to learn the sprinkle/tinkle poem.
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