A Tale of Toilets

Sometimes vacations have a theme of their own that you don't really realize until you get home. Our trip to Paris could be surmised by the troubles we had with toilets. Let me elaborate:

• A toilet in the apartment that leaked sewage down the wall
• The same toilet later leaked sewage on your head
• The same toilet that entrapped my mother in law to the point where I was afraid we'd need an axe to chop down the door
• Toilets we could never find in museums
• Toilets, once found, always had long lines that required a 30 minute wait
• Toilet confusion resulting from common handwashing areas for men and women, but separate toilet stalls (complete with attendants directing users like airline control towers)
• The toilet my husband went into that was for women, not men (we'll have to save the theme of "being yelled at in France" for another day). As my daughter aptly put it, I just went on in and pretended he wasn't my dad.
• The toliet at Charles de Gaule that I wanted to barf in when I had a reaction to the Dramamina and Prevacid I'd taken at the same time