#59 Baby Won't You Let Me Have a Little Time to Hide

August 29, 2020

The other night my sister, Kim, shared a memory. We were kids- she was probably 14 and I was 10. It was a Saturday night in the summer and we were down the shore. Our parents were, as usual, working at the bar up at home so the older kids were babysitting us. But technically, we were old enough to be left home on our own while the older kids were out at the bars. 

A birthday, maybe my 10th? Even though we were in the dog days of summer, Mom always bought me a winter coat. I'd wear it around, loving the feel of the lining against my sunburned skin.  

 

So, we were by ourselves in this big, quiet, scary house with only 3 channels on the tv and no long-distance phone service. We were about to settle in for a long night of Jiffy Pop and reruns when I giant flying creature came in through an open screen door. It was terrifying, obviously the love child of a pterodactyl and a tarantula. It had yellow eyes and pointy teeth.* Needless to say, we freaked out. 

 

We ran like hell and locked ourselves into the bathroom. I can’t remember how we spent the 4-5 hours that we sat on the floor of that bathroom. I’m sure we sang show tunes and radio hits and discussed every 80s tv show. All I knew was that in the bathroom, it was safe. In the bathroom, nothing could hurt us. 

 

When my sisters came home, I’m sure there were eye rolls and a half-hearted search for the creature. (WHERE DID IT GO?) We didn’t hear the end of it for years — I think until we topped ourselves a few years later by calling the police because we thought the ceiling fan was going to fall on our heads. 

 

Hearing this story, my roommate said: “You still do that —hide in the bathroom when you get scared.” 

 

This is true. 

 

Over the years I’ve sought refuge in the bathroom on many occasions, for lots of reasons. It was a good crying spot in high school when I felt like an outcast. In college, the oversized, shared bathroom on our dorm floor was the meeting place to dissect our adventures the night before. I sat on the bathroom floor the day my friend called to tell me she had cancer. 

 

I like hanging out in my bathroom. I have a nice fluffy rug in there. It’s comforting, like a womb with a really great mirror. 

 

Toward the beginning of the pandemic, it rained and rained so much that I was sure it was a plot by the City of New York to keep us inside and off the streets. I like a good rainstorm — it feels like they city is getting a much-needed shower. But we also had thunderstorms with lightening strikes so dramatic that I expected a supervillain to show up. 

 

That’s when I retreated to the bathroom — in the middle of the workday. I set up my home office (aka my laptop on top of 2 yoga blocks and an old amazon prime box) and stayed in there the rest of the day. 

Just being a boss as usual.  And yes, that IS a Squatty Potty. 5 stars, would recommend.

My assistant bringing me thunder updates. 

 

Where do you go when you get a case of the scaries? 

 

Cx

 

59/100

 

 

 

*Ok Ok, I have no real memory of what this thing looked like. It might have been a bat or a some other nonlethal flying insect. All I know is that it was scary AF.

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