Open Letters

An Open Letter to the Lady Who Stands in the Girls' Bathroom at The Club

Dear Lady Who Stands in the Girls’ Bathroom at The Club,

I always wonder about you, Lady. Well, not always — and forgive me if this sounds rude, but most of the time I don’t think of you at all. But then it’s some ordinary Thursday that has devolved into a typically unpredictable Hollywood night-on-the-town and I find myself at The Club, which could be any old place with a one-word name like “Bucket” or “Ink” or “Sage” or “Thyme” or “Parsely, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme” if you’re a Simon & Garfunkel-themed club; and against all my better judgement, and general lack of interest, I’m a few too many drinks in and it’s time to pee and it’s not until I flee from the uncomfortably industrial looking bathroom stall until I see you again, and I think to myself, “that’s right! That’s the lady who stands in the girls’ bathroom at The Club!

I imagine it is a thankless job, spending all this time in a bathroom handing out mints and tampons and towels and bobby pins to drunk girls.  Trust me, however, you might be the lucky one, in there all night — on occasion the bathrooms are nicer than the cramped spaces on the dance floor where everything is hot and sweaty and smells like rum and faded perfume and girls who should not be dressed like that.

I’ll see you there Lady, and because I will talk to anyone, literally anyone (like, a cat and also a hobo — I will talk to them), I’ll probably be talking with the girl standing next to me but if she isn’t there then it’s you and you’re stuck with me, and I’m going to have to talk to someone, so you’re it.  The good news is, that while I’ll smile and say hello and maybe ask some silly question about the lighting, in no time I’ll soon become distracted because you have Wintergreen Lifesavers. You have Wintergreen Lifesavers in a situation when I would never think that I wanted a Wintergreen Lifesaver but there they are, like a little donut-shaped slice of heaven. A life saver.

What do you think of me? Do you even think of me? And when I say “me” I refer not to I, Ann Palmer Stamell aka Stamos, but to Drunk Girls at the Bathroom at The Club. To all of us. Do you find yourself exhausted by the endless amount of girl chatter and girl giggles and girl pee? Do you overhear the best conversations? Or the worst conversations? Have you written a tell-all-book yet? You should, you know. I’d read it.

Thank you for the Wintergreen Lifesavers.



Featured Image via Kristie Manning

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