You aggressively tried to open the trendy bistro’s gender-neutral restroom door multiple times, even though the deadbolt lock said “In Use.” The first time, I understood, but by your third turn of the handle, I thought it would have been pretty obvious the bathroom was occupied.
You know what you want, I like that.
I overheard you complaining to the person behind you in line that “it sucks this place only has one place to piss,” and wondering out loud why I was taking so long.
Not afraid to share your opinions, another plus.
You let out a dramatic sigh at my attempting-to-flirt smile. It was clear you were avoiding having to touch the door as I held it open for you so you wouldn’t have to key in the code that kept non-patrons out most of the time. 1234#.
Cleanliness, a great trait.
While I thought love was in the air, you smelled something else. There was a look of scent-related disgust on your face as the odor of a previous restroom guest’s handiwork gusted through the ill-lighted hallway and surrounded us both. Your cute nose curled up into your face, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. I wanted to say hello, but then it became painfully obvious.
You were blaming me for the stench.
I promise it smelled like that before I went in there, please believe me. I even tried soaping up my hands and waving them through the air to help diffuse a more pleasant aroma throughout the small room, but that clearly wasn’t enough. It’s not like a restaurant with postmodern Dada-themed decor and nineteen dollar drinks is going to place a can of ‘Spring Laundry’ air freshener next to the toilet. That would like, totally kill the vibe, so what more can you do.
Thought you were cute, call me.