The Toilet

Maybe I didn't make this clear enough in my last post.*

The dressing room to the new club is guarded by a black door with the word "Kittens" painted on it in Disney-style writing. It gives the impression that inside this room, we magically become little playthings that are distracted for hours on end by balls of yarn so that you can stare, uninterrupted, at our breasts.

If I had taken an extra step or two forwards after pushing open said door, I would have bashed my hip on the ceramic sink strategically placed directly in front of the entrance.

After walking back through a room no larger than your average storage closet, I enter the area where the lockers are, and I then place my personal items on the only shelf space in there: a toilet.

Just to be clear: the toilet isn't somewhere off to the side, it isn't hidden by a curtain. No. The toilet is front and center, proud and white. There is no doubt that the room we are supposedly using to muster the sexy was once, in it's heyday, a stall. A handicapped stall, maybe, but a stall nonetheless. I just find this fascinating. Why not take the toilet out? Would that be so hard? Why not give us ladies the feeling - right before we set foot on the floor to make our millions - that we are somewhere a little more sensual than a crapper? I just don't feel as though it sets the proper tone. I can't get over it.

*Or maybe I'm just so enthralled with the concept that I decided one sentence in one post didn't do it justice...