That’s a sentence that might be classified as too much information, if it didn’t come from your twin three year old grandchildren as you were finishing breakfast in a nice restaurant. Your first thought is “Oh God, please hold it.” You jump to your feet, struggle with the new government mandated safety straps guaranteed to hold the little one safely in their high chair through a level 5 earthquake, yank the kids out of the chair and walk nonchalantly to the john.

Miller and Campbell, my grand kids, are boy and girl, so I proclaim the Men’s Room unisex and off we go. I’m semi frantic at this point, feeling the doomsday cloud of a walking pee coming my way. As soon as we enter the john I tell Miller, the girl, to use the stall and Campbell, the boy, to use the urinal. As I make sure Miller has secured a perch on the toilet without falling in, Campbell starts to scream, “I can’t reach, I can’t reach!” Panicked I run out of the stall to see Campbell looking like a limbo dancer with the business end of his gun pointed straight up. This is not good, if Newton had any idea about what he was talking about.

I run to Campbell to lift him up to urinal level in the nick of time. Just as Campbell is finishing, Miller starts to yell “My undies got wet!” She walks out of the stall naked and tries to hand me her dripping “undies.”

Both of them yell “We need to wash our hands!” I look around for the sink. It is laid out for the great American germ battle; auto soap, auto water and auto hand towels, perfect layout for a simultaneous wash down of two three year olds. It had two sinks, so I boost Miller up on one and then go over to Campbell, only to hear the whir of the auto paper dispenser as Miller spews out paper towels everywhere.

I run over to Miller, fight my way through the blizzard of paper towels, and try to get control. Just at that moment, I hear the drip of liquid soap as it flows off the sink counter onto the floor. Campbell has discovered the automatic soap dispenser.

Things are not good. Paper towels are everywhere. There is soap all over the floor. Miller’s sopping “undies” are in the middle of the bathroom. Just then the door to the john swings open and an old guy walks in whose last contact with a kid under five was at least seventy five years ago. As he surveys the john his lips turns down and his nose turns up. I smile at him. I’ve got Miller and Campbell in hand, and as I walk by I say quietly “we had to pee.”

Harry McHugh… first a corporate blue suiter then an entrepreneur; survived them both as well as two daughters. Writes to relive the adventure. Big believer in jump before you look. The results are usually hysterical.

Catch Harry’s stories at: http://funnierthanwethink.blogspot.com/