The Home Team Advantage

I am immensely enjoying my visit to my parents' house. It feels like home, especially since Mom made it out of the hospital and Papa learned to chill the fuck out. They are both adorable. Papa bought Mom a headscarf from Urban Outfitters (although how he found his way in there, I have no idea), and she looks like a little babushka. Unapologetically warm and so. very. cute. She keeps insisting that she's a Senior Citizen, and it confounds me. At the same time, however, we're having rather contemporary and adult conversations. Embarrassingly so, at times. But this is not the place to summarize that.

We went out for drinks and pizza at a local pub. I excused myself to use the restroom, and while in the stall (the same one I'd always used in prior visits) finally wondered at why the toilet paper dispenser was at head-height on the left. And the graffiti is a bit... off, for a women's room. As it's slowly dawning on me that I may be urinating in the men's room, I hear a guy walk in and make a phlegm-clearing sound. Shit! Busted! I finish up, sneak out of the stall and look around. I don't see the guy, so I go to wash my hands. But, sure enough, there's some old dude at the urinal which is tucked in behind the door, with his back to the sink. Expediently, I hauled ass out of there and tried to avoid the looks from the people sitting nearby, which were making it blazingly obvious that everyone other than me knew it was the dude's room.

I go back to our table, rather embarrassed and tell Mom what happened. "Oh god, I accidentally went into the men's room and didn't realize. Which was fine, but then some dude came in!" She's all, "Oh, honey. It happens. This one time..." We were swapping inappropriate use of restroom stories when my dad walks up. And then I recognize the sweater. "Holy fuck! You were the guy at the urinal!" and he's all, "What? Oh crap! You were the asshole who didn't wash his hands!"