"True, it did smell sort of like someone had farted into a bowl of potpourri, and those metal boxes full of used "sanitary napkins" made me gag, but compared to the men's room I thought I'd stumbled into a recently-evacuated harem of Kublai Khan's pleasure dome."
Read the rest. It's on how having a little girl, and being forced to take her into public restrooms, changed his life. This part, where she's finally too old to go into the boy's room with him anymore, was priceless.
"She refused to line up behind the scouts. Everything had come to a head.
No one had gone in or out of the women's lavatory for quite some time. "See that door?" I said softly. "When you go inside, you're not going to realize it's a bathroom, but it is: I promise you. I need you to go inside, find a toilet, and close the door. Then I want you to go potty like a big girl. And wash your hands, okay?"
"Okay, Pops," she replied.
"I love you," I said, holding the door for her, watching as she disappeared beyond the gilded vanities into a fog of myrrh, lost to me now in a land of rainbows and sparkling porcelain where flatulence is as delicate as the fluttering of fairy wings and only the faint sound of a unicorn braying hints that someone inside might be struggling to empty her colon."
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