Over the weekend, the hot hot sweltering weekend, I was sitting at a cozy table at the back of a wine bar waiting for the waitress to bring me a glass of water. I was getting kind of antsy and I was really thirsty and I figured she was super busy so I decided to get up and go over to the actual bar and retrieve the glass of water myself, which I did.

The End.

Super great story, right!?

But wait. On the way back from the bar, water in hand, I realized I had to go to the bathroom so I brought the glass with me into the stall and set it onto the toilet tank.

Listen, I don’t know either, okay? I don’t know why it was so important to carry that water glass in there with me and set it near me as I…went to the bathroom. I really don’t. I almost wish I had thought to do that thing you do when you’re a little kid where you drink something while you pee and pretend it’s going right through you really fast.

Was that just me?

(Mom: I AM SORRY FOR THIS POST. AND FOR ALL THE PRIESTS READING THIS.)

ANYWAY.

Everything was fine until I flushed the toilet and suddenly, the toilet started shaking violently because, I guess, it was old and flushing it really makes it go crazy? Anyhow, my glass of water flew off the toilet tank, smashed into pieces and most of it?

Ended up in the toilet bowl.

I stared at the huge shards of glass in the toilet and realized I had done a terrible and embarrassing thing and I had basically ruined the toilet for everyone though I couldn’t quite figure out why, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t use it anymore. It was just that there was a shattered glass inside of it and maybe that was kind of artistic. Maybe I had IMPROVED the toilet in the wine bar. WHY DOESN’T ANYONE APPRECIATE MY CREATIVITY?

Um.

Anyway, I froze for an instant wondering what to do and the only thing that came to me was to stick my hand inside the toilet and fish the pieces of glass out.

My bare hands. Into a public toilet. To take out some broken glass.

This was where later, when I recounted the story, my darling and patient boyfriend who puts up with me interrupted to say: “Yeah, see? This is where you lose me. I just am not sure why you decided to do that.”

WHAT CHOICE DID I HAVE?

Plenty, apparently.

Even my cousin Tom who I thought would definitely have my back was like LAURA, WHY DO YOU DO THINGS LIKE THAT?! You just get a busboy and tell him something is in the toilet and have him deal with it.

BUT THAT SORT OF PUSHES A BUTTON OF MINE. IT DOESN’T QUITE FEEL JUST.

I mean, I can’t just say “SOMETHING IS IN THE TOILET!” I know what’s in the toilet. My broken water glass is in the toilet. And then the busboy is going to stare at me like what the hell were you doing in the bathroom with a glass of water anyway? And maybe he’ll judge me for assuming I was doing that thing where you drink and pee at the same time and pretend it’s going through you really fast but I WASN’T DOING THAT.

I haven’t done that in like, 20 minutes years.

Also, it’s not the busboy’s job, you know? They deal with enough crap as it is and are FAR UNDERPAID.

So, fine. I stuck my hand in a toilet and picked out the shards of glass I could reach without plunging my whole arm in and then I licked my fingers.

GROSS, NO.

I washed my hands and went back to the table and was all, um, excuse me, something weird just happened in the bathroom.

And really? No one was surprised. No one.

I can’t decide which is worse: that I rescued broken glass from a public toilet bowl or that I just ordered shoes online that were designed by Fergie.

Dear everyone:

I’m sorry.

Love,

Laura