I don't really know the purpose of this post.
I went to my boyfriend's grandparents house and I really had to pee so I went......into their bathroom to relieve myself. I sat on the toilet. The seat was rimmed with a cream-colored memory-foam-life-vest-thing seat cover. It's a good thing memory foam doesn't collect memories. just sayin. it was intensely comfortable, plus my temporary throne was about two to three times higher than the average toilet. It's really no wonder that fragile-bottomed old people have cushy seats on their toilets. The bathroom is the third (a very-close second) most important room in the house so why not have a comfortable seat on which to relieve yourself? Ah, cushioned toilet seat, years it had been and hopefully years it will be before we meet again.
Still, I felt royal upon my flushing throne, so tall and grandiose. I'm about six feet and two inches from the floor, so tall stools (I know we're talking a lot of potty here, but not those kind of stools), tall chairs, tall cars and trucks, and even animals are a blessing. I love not having to bend over to get in or on or out or off of something. That's a lot of 'o' words. I get envious of little kids sometimes when they sit on a chair and can kick their dwarfish dangling legs. I love doing that when I get the chance. I couldn't dangle my legs from this toilet, and though I couldn't have the childlike wish of my heart, I still didn't have to stand up.... it was really just more of a step forward.
From Rexbug, Idaho to Raymond, Alberta, Canadia it usually takes about 7 1/2 hours. That's if bf speeds. We drove with a total of ten people in two cars. And he sped. We got pulled over because his car was missing a head light. The cop that took his license and registration looked really young, looked inexperienced to the ways of doughnuts, had no facial hair and innocent-type eyes. With my extensive experience as a detective I noticed the old, fat, mustached cop accompanying the young cop and figured this proto-cop at our window was in training. He asked if he knew why he got pulled over and bf said, "because I don't have a headlight?" That was the right answer. Did I mention that two hours earlier we hit a deer? It was crossing the road to our right, causing the car to lay down some sweet skid marks toward the left, but her butt hit the right front of the car, where she left some poop on the bumper, and her face whipped around to her right and hit the passenger side door where she drooled her last drool, and the impact broke at least her back right leg, and she died somewhere in Montana. With her life she took the headlight but left some dents that will forever remind him of the moment. It's an '89 Chevrolet Caprice beast; the poor dear didn't stand a chance. That's the first deer death I've been involved in. The second police pullover ("no, it's a cardigan!".....), and the third time I've been in a car stuttering to a stop for lack of life sustaining fluids. Yep, same trip we ran out of gas. Hairy story trimmed short, we made it to Canadia (I'm saying Canadia on purpose) eleven hours from the starting line.
I know you're not supposed to remove anything from National Parks in the USA, but I didn't know any better in Canadia. Nobody official-like knows yet, but I found something in Waterton National Park and now it's in Utah. Somehow it made it into my purse and back to Utah. And actually, now I'm the Queen of Waterton National Park. No one official-like knows that either. I'm not sure if I want to really assume any responsibility, but it's nice to know that I'm important in a foreign country. So, we were all skippin stones. I was unusually sucky at skipping stones so I sat down to just find the coolest one to take home with me. The sky above was clouded and aboot the time my eyes beheld my treasure, the heavens opened and a pillar of light shone upon me. I reached out and pulled a three-inch, plastic, gray sword from the stones. No joke. I always felt I was destined for dispensable, international semi-greatness.