Don’t Know Squat

Another flashback: This was ten years ago while we were on a road trip to France from England. The scene is the south coast, not too far from Dover.

The B&B at Herne Bay was very quiet and cozy – B&B’s are best described as “cozy,” I think; there just isn’t a better adjective for them – but because we were there something odd just naturally had to happen. The power went out at about the time of night when I usually get up to use the bathroom.

Stumbling in, I yanked the cord to turn on the light because the windowless bathroom was blacker than the inside of a cow. Nothing. Stayed black. Yanked again, like that was going to do any good. Still nothing. I remembered there was a small light over the sink, so I felt for that until I found the cord, and pulled it. Still nothing.

I had to go to the toilet real bad, but this was back before my brain cell figured out how to pee in the dark, so I shuffled out and across the room to the closet where I went through all my coat pockets, looking for a flashlight. While I was doing that, Barb got out of bed and took the bathroom. She came out to find me dancing around outside the door with my legs crossed.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, then added, just for my information, “the lights don’t work.”

“I know that!” I hissed. And then I was just dumb enough to ask, “How did you use the toilet in the dark, anyway?”

Then the answer hit me right between the eyes. Or maybe a more apt simile is, kicked me right in the kidneys. I shoved past her and squatted to the sound of a celestial choir singing hallelujah. It was literally heaven.