On a Spring Day

Two Toddlers kick a soccer ball back and forth, chubby legs all flailing about, as we watch from afar, sprawled out on the on the clover-strewn grass. Parents and grandparents strolling through the park with their bright-eyed mini-mes in tow. And my husband and I taking in both vitamin D and the bucolic scene on a rare sunny Spring afternoon in England. 

He in his favorite, discontinued 505 Levis, cotton shirt and vest, and I in a comically similar outfit. We didn't plan it, but we're hashtag-twinning. It has been over two years since we moved to England, but we are both still occasionally surprised when everyone around us has a posh accent. As happened just moments ago when a young girl on a scooter stopped to look back and plead with her mom, trailing behind her, "Mummy! Can I have an ice lolly?" 

A Sunny Sunday in the Park

The wind picks up and I am thankful for my vest, even though everyone else is sporting t-shirts, sundresses, and the occasional pair of shorts. The English are a hardy sort!

Before we parked ourselves on the grass, we walked through town, stopping to shop and grab a bite of lunch on our way to the park. As we walked toward the park, I realized I would be much more comfortable if I made quick use of a ladies' room. Public toilets are scarce, so I decide to go into the nearby pub/pizzeria to sneakily use their facilities before meeting back up with my husband in the park. 

I am not a person who normally breaks rules, and toilets are for paying customers and I wasn't a paying customer. But I needed to go, so I decided to break the rules. Cheery, beery groups were clustered around the outdoor tables, drinking in the sunshine and booze. I walk past them, looking left and right, feigning looking for a group of friends who are expecting me to join them, and then duck into the building. 

There are fewer people inside, but the pub/pizzeria are still doing good business. I continue to fake looking for my party as I secretly scan the room for the sign to the toilets, all the while worried that the establishment will toss me out if they find out what I'm doing. I'm breaking their rules! 

I see the sign to the toilets, pointing towards a nearby door in a darkish corner of the pub and without a backwards glance, I push through the door. As I open the door and step inside, the words "dough boys" on the door slowly registers as I see a man washing his hands next to the urinal. 

Oh, dear!

I stand stock-still, in full-on deer-in-headlights mode, as the man turns around and ever so nicely says, "You're in the men's, luv," walks past me, pulls the door open and holds it for me to exit. As I re-enter the pub, I see a party seated near the men's loo chuckle and I roll my eyes at them as a self-depricating survival technique. The kind gentleman who escorted me out of the men's points my way to the ladies'. I thank him and hustle across the room and dive into a cubicle in the women's (labeled "Dough Gals") as quick as I can. More from embarrassment than the need to pee, but since I was there…

I slink out of the pub/pizzeria after a few minutes, avoiding the table full of people who had witnessed my  earlier humiliation. 

Next time, I'll just buy a damn pizza.

On a Spring Day