I took my son into the women’s room until around the first grade when he decided he was going to be a big boy and use the men’s room all by himself. I told him not to look at anybody in there, not to talk to anybody, get in, get out and, if anybody even started to get weird, to scream at the top of his lungs and I’d be there in a flash. Then I’d position myself right outside the door so I could more easily establish eye contact with every guy who went in and out.

As for the miniscule number of fathers properly caring for a little girl, fortunately for them, their girls are safe in a women’s restroom. If their young daughter still needs a little help in there, they could watch for a mom going in and ask for her help, which I’m betting they’d get. Worry free. How nice that must be.

I just ate a delectable, buttery croissant, and I am still very, very tired, so I will not detail for you how I have discovered through years of working at an establishment with “family” bathrooms that women and children are every bit as capable of disgusting “hygiene” as men, but I do have to say that it seems to be true. Another factor to remember is that many establishments which claim to care about the cleanliness of their restrooms are understaffed to keep up with traffic of both genders, and many others which are supposed by law to clean bathrooms regularly simply don’t get to it ’til the end of the night.

Being in a wheelchair (which I haven’t been in public in three-and-a-half years but still remember vividly) only makes all this the more obvious, as much of the filth of humanity seems to happen — or at least leave its evidence — a lot closer to face level. Also, things one previously could sidestep without a thought become impediments when one depends on handrails and wheels.

Ick, ick, ick. Blech.

I have to go now, to cleanse my sensual memory by sitting in lotus position — well, half-lotus under the circumstances — and contemplating the perfection of the butter pastry and strong coffee that graced my tongue twenty minutes ago. Ta.

Then there are the boho coffeehouses with separate, wall-to-the-ceiling, one-seater bathrooms anyone can use - to prevent lineups at the womens’, guess - and these are inevitably a mess because apparently many, many men cannot be bothered to pee IN THE FUCKING TOILET despite years of using the damn things. For this lazy, arrogant, filthy behavior, I blame you-know-what.

I gotta get out more often. Or not.

Very tired.

Coed restrooms? Shudder. No, no, no, no no thank you very much. What are the arguments for this? That maybe the ERA would have passed? “More” coed restrooms? You mean they already exist? Good grief. Is there NO space women can have alone?

Nevermind. I already know the answer. Just don’t want to ignite that explosion here.

As far as I can tell, especially since most businesses are not going to dedicate extra real estate in the form of a separate changing room to the welfare of babies or the safety and comfort of disabled people, but sure do want to be perceived as trying to meet all these goals, this is just another argument for more coed restrooms of the sort described above.

While I agree the boys should take more responsibility for diaper duty, hell even a little bit, as I notice they rarely, if ever, seek custody of their kids until after they get some control over their emissions, I doubt stations in the “gentlemen” room would get used enough to even warrant them.

However, my first flash was that I wouldn’t want my infant exposed to the gluey eyeballs of some of the boys who might be in there. Not to mention the kind of cocks that would start frequenting the restrooms with stations for pervy purpose.