An ode to toilets
- Elle Rudd
- Feb 22, 2017
- 1 min read
Men’s bathrooms, so I’ve been told, are a place of silence, no eye contact and awkwardly forced privacy.
I’ve never heard of a time where a man went into a public bathroom, and came out with a new BFF for a few hours.
But for women, this happens on almost every night out.
The loos in a club are a utopia for all who enter.
Where passing toilet roll under the cubicles is almost a ritualistic act of kindness that mirrors Robin Hood’s taking from the rich and giving to the poor.
In these white-tiled havens, you can witness scenes of girls sharing make up and choruses of
"Oh my god babe, I love your shoes."
We’re mocked for going to the toilet in groups but in reality
it’s a case of the more the merrier.
I’ve gone into a busy toilet on a night out to see girls hunched over crying hysterically.
It doesn’t matter about what. Gemma from Sunderland will rush over to you, with a drink, gum and an absolutely incoherent, yet apt, diatribe that will just about solve any issue you may have.
If you ever need sanitary towels, eye shadow, or some stern words from a lovely but harsh northern woman in 6-inch stilettos, then descend to the feminist Shangri-La, the girly Garden of Eden and the seventh heaven of toiletries and tampons.
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