Here's what SHOULD be banned in public restrooms.

Good morning!

I get a little political here in the front end of this, but I promise, eventually the rant turns funny.  Save your outrage until you've read to the end.

Much has been made lately about some states passing laws regarding who is an is not allowed to use the ladies'  bathrooms in stores and restaurants.  My first thought is that if this is what we're screaming at each other right now, wow, we must have solved all the other big stuff like poverty, homelessness, and world hunger.

Oh, no?

Well, then certainly if we're passing laws and yowling at each other and ending friendships and family ties and cancelling concerts in protest  (And BTW, I noticed that the musicians who have been cancelling concerts are mega wealthy folks whose bottom lines really aren't touched if they don't perform a concert or two.  I mean, it's not like the sort of discrimination they're protesting now wasn't around when they were trying to make it big, and you know, NOT cancelling concerts.  I'm not cynical about rich people's motives...I'm just pointing out that moral outrage is way easier when you've got multiple millions in the bank.) then we MUST have gotten all the other problems taken care of.  I mean, every single child must now be reading at their current age level and college must be super affordable so no one has to spend 40 years trying to pay off student loans and everyone must be employed in a job with a living wage and good health benefits that actually cover health issues. 

No?  We haven't?

So we're just going to ignore those issues because this is now the time when we really pay attention to whose going into which public restroom.  Okay.  Well, then my rant about public restrooms can begin.

Who goes into a what public bathroom is an issue I feel I can weigh in based on my many foibles and terrible experiences in that arena.  And let me say up front that no one from the LGBT community has ever given me one second's worth of discomfort in a public restroom.  Just because there's a stick figure on the door with a triangle representing a dress that doesn't automatically make that place a sacred pool of perfection that's now going to be marred because someone who isn't the perfect ideal of stick figure feminity is in there. And if we're going to get up in arms about silly things, how about if we talk about eternally representing "woman" as a stick figure in a dress?  I mean, I haven't worn a dress in probably five years.  I certainly don't identify with that image.  Does that mean I get to use the men's room?  YAY!  No waiting in line!  No disastrous messes in and around the feminine punctuation waste can in the stalls.  No CHILDREN RUNNING AMOK

And that brings me to my issue about public bathrooms and what laws I think SHOULD be passed.

I believe we need to ban CHILDREN with INATTENTIVE MOTHERS and ANYONE USING A CELL PHONE from the ladies' room.

Yep, there, I said it.  if you've got kids that aren't strapped in a baby carrier when you walk into a restroom then I say you don't go in there. WHY?

Let me tell you a story.

I was at Sam's Club a couple weeks ago.  (Why do I always run into these issues at Sam's?  I have no idea, but it's proof that just because you have to pay a membership fee to be someplace, doesn't mean you're know how to behave in that place.)  I needed to use the ladies' room.  Against my better judgment I went in there.  While in there, two mothers with about six kids between them walked in. The mothers used the stalls and while they were taking their own sweet time (no doubt a blessed break from the banshees they'd born) the gaggle of wild animals in their care where banging on stall doors, running around, splashing in toilets, playing with the hand drier like it was an amusement at a science museum, and yanking paper towel out of the dispenser and tossing it in the air.  It was like some sort of sick mash up between Disney World and New Orleans on Fat Tuesday in there and these mothers were sitting in their stalls just chatting with each other while their precious little hellions were tearing the place apart.

Then the mothers finally finished their stall conversation. They flushed and then spent the next long span of time chatting at the sinks. (Where was I?  Sitting in my stall mentally writing this blog.) Having their mothers actually seeing them was no deterrent to this preschool pack of delinquents. It just meant there were two more stalls to play in.  After a couple more minutes I couldn't take the noise and the grossness of the splashing anymore. I left the shelter of the stall and while I was washing my hands I mentally gave these two women the stink eye.  (Oh yeah, that stopped them.)

Now I'm not unsympathetic to mothers who have small children. I have two of my own and when they were small I babysat which means when I wanted to go to the store, I had four, five, six children of different ages in tow.  What did I do when I had to use the bathroom?

WE LEFT THE STORE AND I WAITED UNTIL I GOT HOME.

That's one of the sacrifices moms have to make.  Doesn't matter how well behaved the kids are, or how many times you've told them to "Stand right here and don't move I'll only be a minute" the second you're out of sight they're going to turn into cage free chickens and hunt and peck all over the place. And if you can't leave them standing right outside the door, if you bring them into the ladies' room...well, then give me a heads up so I can avoid your kids' circus performances.

And you know what?  Businesses have tried to fix this particular restroom situation.  Ever hear of the "FAMILY RESTROOM?" Yeah, those

popped up once my kids were a little older. Restrooms where parents with kids of either gender can go in and use them, no worries. 

Guess what?  THOSE RESTROOMS ARE ALWAYS EMPTY.

Why don't I use them?  Well, the toilets tend to be...very short. And I'm not exactly as flexible as I used to be.  If I sit that close to the ground I may not get up any time soon.

Oh, also, I don't have a pack of kids with me anymore.  So I'd feel bad if a family actually came in to use it and I was hogging it.  

Of course, my experiences elsewhere have proved that mothers with kids don't use family restrooms. (Yes, Sam's Club has one.)

As for people who use cell phones in public bathrooms, well, you should be banned too. Why?  Because not all of us are as confident about ourselves as you are and we feel that certain noises that happen in bathrooms shouldn't be broadcast to people outside the restroom.  That's just nasty and it makes me feel uncomfortable. Do I feel violated?  Well, if it means no one's allowed to use their cell phones in public restrooms, then YES!  I feel violated. My civil rights are violated and I don't feel safe in this public place when you are in the stall next to me, chatting away with your friend on the phone.

I'm not saying any of this to diminish the pain I know those who struggle with gender identity issues have.  I'm saying this point out that having someone who doesn't look like a woman in the women's room is not even remotely the biggest problem in public restrooms. How about if we worry less about who is in the bathroom with us and worry more about making sure there's actually toilet paper and soap in there so we can all leave the bathroom without carrying 18 different diseases out with us?

But for now, since I don't identify as a triangle and I certainly don't identify as a cellphone-chatting-children-ignoring-rude person, I'm just gonna go ahead and use the men's room.

Woodman's and my favorite episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond." Can you see all the similarities?

Good morning!

It isn't often that I write a Tuesday blog, mostly because Tuesdays are not historically good for me and I try to stay out of the way of pretty much everything that could hurt me:  pointy things, cars, computers, socks...

Anyway, yesterday something happened and I have to rant about it because even now, the next day, I'm still furious.  But here's the "Todd and Tom" warning:  This is going to deal with certain female issues and if you're going to be offended by that...or if you're going to just say, "Oh it's because she's PMS-ing" then stop reading now and never speak to me again.

Okay, let's begin.

I like grocery shopping.  I especially enjoy it at Woodman's where the aisles are wide and the selection is always surprising.  The produce is not great...I go to Sam's Club or Brennan's for that most of the time, but otherwise, Woodman's is a great grocery store where I can find everything I need at a good price.

Until yesterday.

The last several weeks I've been retaining a bit of water weight.  How else would you explain four to five workouts a week, walking 12000 steps a day, drinking 64 plus ounces of water, and still gaining 7 pounds in the last two weeks?  Water weight. So I decided that yesterday while at the grocery store, I'd get some water pills along with other female punctuation items.

I should also mention that my right hip has been giving me grief, partially due to the increased difficulty I set for myself in weight training and treadmill work. I find if I walk on solid ground for an extended period of time, I get a pretty severe pain in my upper back hip and along the side of my thigh.  But no worries yesterday...I was just going grocery shopping for a few things.

Right.  We wouldn't be here if I found everything and went home with no pain and all was well.

I filled my cart with the food items I needed except for the produce, (I needed small green onions for a recipe), and I headed over to health and beauty to find my water pills and other female punctuation items.

Water pills are typically found with other diet pills and diet foods, so that's where I started. Here's what I found:

4 different kinds of protein "MUSCLE MILK" powder.
Slim quick for men.  (Wasn't this supposed to be the breakthrough diet thing for women?)
80 square feet of protein bars with male hikers on the wrapper.

No water pills.

Okay, I thought, no worry. I'll just go over to "Feminine Care" and they'll be there. That makes sense, after all, to put all the feminine items in the feminine care aisle.

Ya know what's in the Feminine Care aisle at Woodmans?  Adult diapers for men.  Also, condoms and pleasure gels "FOR HIM."  Ya know what's not there?  WATER PILLS!

Well there's one more place they "could be."  They could be with the Midol, Pamparin and other female punctuation symptom relievers in the pain relief aisle.  I mean, it's a stretch, but it's not unheard of.  So, my hip starting to pound because now I've been hiking through Woodman's expanses for forty minutes, I head to the pain relief aisle. 

Know what's there?  

Six kinds of pills expressly for migraine sufferers, fourteen kinds of PM pain relievers, three different brands of pills for urinary pain and FOUR.....count then FOUR kinds of pain pills for restless leg syndrome.  

Know what's NOT THERE?  

No Pamparin. No Midol. NO WATER PILLS!

Not a one.  None. No female punctuation fain relievers AT ALL.

Well, this can't be, I tell myself. So, my hip and lower back now on fire because I'm dragging a full grocery cart around the store, and my skin is on fire because I'm in the middle of an allergy issue and if I sweat it makes the itching and burning worse, I retrace my steps.  Diet aisle:  No, nothing.

Feminine care aisle: Nothing.

Pain reliever:  nothing.

I look at the big Woodman's clock and realize I've been on this quest for more than an hour at this point. I've put on 2500 steps in the store (good) and I'm limping to the point where people are starting to stare. (Not so good.)  I'm also, I think, talking out loud, hence more staring, because...yes...I could do with a good dose of the punctuation symptom reliever and the rage is building.

I should mention, I don't PMS like most women. I have that high powered "I'm going to kill someone if I don't get chocolate and an episode of 'Grey's Anatomy' RIGHT NOW" PMS.  And I never seem to remember that I get it because it's a surprise when it hits.  Like when I'm standing in the pain reliever aisle at Woodman's muttering "You have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!  WHAT KIND OF SEXIST OPERATION IS THIS PLACE?"

Okay, maybe I wasn't muttering. Maybe I was talking out loud...maybe I was talking a little louder than just 'out loud.'

I did a third lap around the football field that is the health and beauty department in Woodman's and came up with nothing.   At this point I was sweating, my skin was burning, my hip and thigh were crippled, and I was full on into PMS rage.  I approach the checkout, which thankfully isn't loaded with other customers, and I have a little bit of an out of body experience.  Here's how it goes:

"Hi, did you find everything okay?"  This is the chirpy check out girl.

"No, I did not."  This is me.

"Oh what didn't you find?"

"I didn't find any water pills, Midol or Pamparin."

This is where the clerk's eyes would glaze over and he, because it's a he I'm waiting for in line, would assume it's all because I'm a woman...and I have PMS.  And that's why I'm in a rage.

No, I think, returning to my body after these thoughts, I'm in a rage because what I'm looking for are basic things that should be in a grocery store.  

And then I was reminded of my favorite "Everybody Loves Raymond" episode. (Go ahead, watch the clip.)  I realized that no matter how I explained to the clerk, he'd just look at me like I'd lost my mind, I was a nutty female.  If I told him what I couldn't find, he'd go back to the break room and say, "Oh wow, you would NOT believe the woman who came through my line today. Couldn't find water pills and midol and lost her mind!"

Because...as Debra points out to Ray...there's nothing in this store for BITCHY.

So I bit my lip. I didn't wig out on the clerk, because I'm sure he's a nice guy.  I should also point out that Woodman's clerks aren't chirpy. They're too busy for that nonsense.  I got through the line I got home and I slumped in a chair watching "House MD" on Netflix because I've seen all the 'Grey's Anatomy' and everyone on House is way sicker than I could ever feel, which made me feel a bit better.

Oh, and you know where there is plenty of stuff for bitchy?  Walgreens.  Yeah, two brands of water pills. Almost sold out  (they are now!) but they're there.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! A drive past the temple leads to Hubby's worst nightmare.

How do you not see this on your house?
How is this still okay to look at?

Good afternoon!

As many of you know I hate seeing Christmas decorations up after a certain point in the year.  I'm the one who yells "TAKE THEM DOWN" starting on Groundhog's Day.  I continue my rage against holiday lights, decorations, and especially LIVE WREATHS THAT HAVE LONG SINCE TURNED
BROWN hanging on people's homes with it's late April and we're looking at 70 degrees and sunny.  People, TAKE THEM DOWN! 

I've started to believe my neighborhood reads my blog because there are several houses within walking distance of mine that I swear, I SWEAR, have actually put of MORE Christmas decorations, Neon Santas, icicle lights, all of that, since we got warmer weather.  We drive past this one house that has that plastic figure Nativity lit up all year 'round. (Which leads me to yell, "JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH TAKE IT DOWN!")

Right around the corner from the Jesus, Mary, and Joseph house is Temple Beth-el, our local Jewish Temple.  This past Thursday evening there seemed to be quite a lot of activity around the Temple and Hubby and I, not Jewish at all, speculated as to what might be going on.  I suggested that maybe it's a sort of midweek service for those who can't attend services at the regular time.  (Christian churches all pretty much have alternate days of the week for those who can't make Sunday mornings.)  Hubby thought it might be Passover, which made sense, since we just had Easter.  Then we got to talking about how the Jewish calendar sometimes coincides with the Christian calendar and sometimes doesn't.  Sometimes Passover and Easter are right on top of each other, which makes sense....Jesus celebrated Passover and then died, and rose on Easter.  So yes, right on top of each other.  But because of the lunar calendar sometimes the two are further apart on dates.

As we were discussing this, we drove past a house that still had a ratty old brown wreath up. I yelled, "TAKE THEM DOWN."  And that's when it happened.

Hubby said, "You know, if you think about it, the Bible account of Jesus' birth didn't really take place in the winter."

I said, "How so?"

Hubby said, "Well, the shepherds were out in the fields...what were they doing?"

(I was raised Christian and had to learn to recite Luke chapter two by heart. )  I said, "Keeping watch over their flocks by night."

Hubby said, "Yes, but why out in the fields?"

I said, "Well, I imagine because the sheep were grazing and it could still be winter because it's the Mediterranean and they don't have the kinds of snow infested killing cold we do."

"Baa....I managed to get Hubby into the blog!"

Hubby said, "No, those sheep were out there birthing."

I said, "Well, sure, I mean, that makes sense. Lambs are typically born in the spring."  (I'm such an expert on lamb birthing. When I was a kid, there was a lady in town who kept a small flock and we got to feed the lambs with a bottle sometimes.)

And then, and then, Hubby said this, "So, sure, the shepherds were out there birthing the spring lambs, so if you really think about it, all these Christmas lights and wreaths and Nativity scenes should really be up, you know. RIGHT NOW."

At this point we pulled into our driveway and I glared at him.  "You know," I said, "I was going to post lovely pictures of Peaches trying on my wedding dress and how pretty she looked and all that, but now, instead, I'm going to have to put you in the blog."

He didn't say anything. He started texting.

"Who are you texting?"  I asked.

"I'm telling Peaches that I've saved her from the blog."

His phone chimed.  He looked at it, smiled and said, "She says, 'Thank you.'"

For those of you living around here, don't think this scholarly win on Hubby's part gets you off the hook. We celebrate Christmas in December.  Those lights are dangling by a single nail and the wreaths are dead.  TAKE THEM DOWN!  Or suffer the small twinge of amusement you're going to feel when I drive by your house and yell at you.

Meanwhile, Passover starts this coming Friday at sundown.  To all my Jewish friends and readers I wish you a Happy Passover.  

I'm going to be way more "Whoo hoo" once I'm conscious, I promise!

Good afternoon!

Peaches is engaged.

Like all mothers, I'm excited, nervous, scared, happy, tearful, reflective, and filled with joy.

I'm also very, very tired.

See here's how this all went down.

Two weeks ago, right before Easter, The Boy...and let's just go ahead and give him a blog name, how about Junior...anyway, Junior sent a letter addressed to Hubby, Skippy, and me.  This letter contained, among other things, a diamond ring. Now, the first thing we all wondered was...would Junior really have mailed an actual ring just to prove he was serious about marrying our daughter?

A couple of texts later we found out, yes, he would, he did, and it was very real.

Junior is a quiet young man, He's Skippy's age so he's a bit older than Peaches, who is, yes, still not quite 20.   Junior has worked very hard to put his life in the right order and he's going to school right now to pursue a career he's very passionate about.  He moved from Wisconsin to points further south and he and Peaches realized that a long distance relationship is not easy.  They figured that out pretty quickly...like a week.

Now most people would plow through the time apart. Hubby and I did prior to our short engagement and marriage.  We had phone bills that rivaled the Gross National Product of some small European countries.  (This was back in the day when long distance charges went down after 8 PM.)  But Junior is a bit different from most people, instead he got himself a ring and mailed it to us with a letter than ended, and I'm not making this up, with two boxes.  We were to check yes...or no...

George Strait lyrics and an early scene from "Pretty in Pink" aside. the letter was sweet, thoughtful, and completely disarming.  Oh, and it was to be kept a complete secret from Peaches and everyone else who wasn't names Hubby, Sarah, or Skippy.

All this right before a big holiday weekend with church people and relatives and MY MOTHER all buzzing around the house and Peaches too.  This is when we realized that Junior is not great at keeping secrets because Peaches spent a lot of time asking us questions like, "Did you get a letter from Junior, he said he mailed one." and "What are you doing next weekend?  Where are you?  Who were you just texting?"

Nope, Easter was very weird.

Anyway, clearly Junior wanted to do the right thing and ask for Peaches' hand, but time and distance and the fact that he's in school all the time made it difficult.  So the weekend after Easter, Hubby drove down to see Junior and talk about life and marriage and how he'd better treat our daughter like an absolute queen for the rest of her life and never, ever, EVER think about divorce because this is forever, like forever. forever.  It was a productive chat. Of course that left me at home to pretty much lie my face off about where Hubby was.  Sure, work takes him out of town once in a while, but I'm just not a good liar. Probably why I don't do it often.  

But we had to get this conversation done because Peaches was on her way down to see Junior this past week and we knew Junior was eager to ask her but probably wouldn't simply because we hadn't actually answered him.  So Hubby drove down on Friday, returned on Saturday and Peaches left on Monday.

And then we waited. 

We waited Monday.  We waited Tuesday. We waited Wednesday and Thursday and all day Friday. And I kept asking Hubby..."You don't think he got cold feet, do you?"

Then, Friday night....or should I say Saturday morning...I got the text.  In the middle of the night.  after midnight.

Normally I'm up, I don't sleep well. But this was one of those rare nights  I was in a deep, warm, cozy sleep, exhausted from waiting for Junior to pop the question during daylight hours for an entire week. 

So it took me a minute.  And her text said, "So Junior asked me marry him."

Oh...oh I see.  I'd forgotten that she probably didn't know we'd known about this for TWO SOLID WEEKS.  so I pried open my eyes and texted:

And.....?

Peaches:  "I said yes!"

Since  is a group chat, Hubby's phone was buzzing and chirping and whatever it is his phone does when she and I text back and forth, so he woke up and joined in the conversation.  Looking at our texting, I'm surprised I was as coherent as I was.  I probably should have been more "whoo hoo" (I got all that out of my system in the previous two weeks and I'll be super whoo hoo when she comes home and shows me the ring in person in a few days.)

Anyway, this got me to thinking about my own engagement to Hubby. I was living in Michigan, teaching and he was in Wisconsin. He'd asked for my hand TWO MONTHS earlier and told my parents he was going to ask me at Christmas.  I flew to Milwaukee, and then he drove me two hours north to my parents, with a pit stop at our favorite willow tree over looking Lake Michigan.By the time we got there it had crossed from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day and by the time we got to my parents they were exhausted too.

We spent the next two weeks telling all the relatives (because we went to see everyone on both sides of the family that years. Lots of miles in a Jeep Wrangler) and then nailing down our wedding date and our reception hall for that following summer because I was done living apart from Hubby. Yes, you can plan a wedding for 200 in less than seven months.

Anyway my point is is that we kept my parents waiting for two months and kept them up late that night as well. I guess when it comes to engagements, that's how that goes. The couple is in the blissful dizziness of those first engaged moments, you know, the ones before you realize that planning a wedding is a gigantic pain in the rump and by the time you get to the wedding you're not so sure you like any of your friends, relatives, or your fiancee.    Yeah, before all that, there's that dizzy love.  And while that's going on, the parents of the bride are happy, joyful, excited...

And very, very tired.

Personally, I'm eager to see how it works from the other side, you know, when Skippy decides to propose to a girl I'm just going to start calling Missy right now just so things are easier down the road. That'll be that great moment when we are in the dark until a week later when he remembers to tell us.

But that's a ways away.

This is a thing?  I must have this!

For now, we are so happy to welcome Junior into the family and I just can't even wait to see what kind of blog posts I'm going to get from this new little development.

Soma Care Salesman fails to read Sarah's body language...so this happened.

Good afternoon!

A week past Easter and two weeks past the first day of Spring and there are those of us who expect to NOT see snow on the ground. Alas, such is not my fate.

I get a little poetic when I'm still running the furnace in April.  You know. poets starve for their art and I'm going to be starving if I have to pay for running the furnace too deep into April.

Anyway, that's not why I'm here on this cloudy, windy, snow flakes dancing in the air but aren't quite hitting the ground afternoon.  I'm here to talk about my latest trip to Sam's Club.
For once I have a story that does NOT involve the pharmacy...but still, I have a story about going to Sam's club.

Hubby and I were there yesterday, shopping for a few items (that ultimately wound up being $127 in groceries. But that's how we do...we're feeding two and we still can't turn down buying 87 pounds of apples because at that price they're like 49 cents a pound!)  and as we were winding up our spree, Hubby decided he needed to use the facilities.  So off he went.  And, as so often happens, I realized I, too, needed to use the facilities a few minutes later.

I steered my cart the most direct route because the more I thought about it the more important it was for me to get to the ladies room.  I was halfway there when I was stopped by a salesperson. I don't know if you have a Sam's Club or any other big box store where they allow vendors come in and do demonstrations or have a display or just openly assault people in the aisles, but at our Sam's Club they have vendors in there all the time.  I try really hard to avoid them because I don't need my windows/bathtub/floors refinished, I don't want a new cable/cellphone/insurance provider and if I wanted to buy hair gel/curling irons/mattresses/vitamin drinks, I am perfectly capable of finding them on the shelves myself.

The vendor in question on this day was a Soma Care guy.  If you're not familiar with Soma Care, it's hot and cold packs that you put on your body to relieve stress.

You'll see the irony in a moment.

The sales guy was a very motivated young man. How motivated?  He jumped in front of my cart (which was full and had a pretty good velocity going because I was on a mission to get to the ladies room...NOW.)

"Do you feel muscle aches?"

That was his opening.  And then he stuffed this tiny red rubber pillow in my hand. It was hot.  I was not amused.  I told him I needed to go.  (Literally.)

"You just tell me if that gets too hot because it can get up to 130 degrees."

This is when I realized that, while my needs to get to another room were pretty urgent, I might just have the makings of a blog post. See how I suffer for my art?  So I stood there, not saying a word, holding the red pillow a foot from my body, and I let this dude just roll.

He put a bigger red pillow on my neck and shoulders. It also was hot. I said nothing.

"So this relieves stress in your shoulders and your back if you just snap these metal disks and get the heat out."

I live in Wisconsin. We are familiar with the concept behind hand and foot warmers.

"So where do you typically feel your stress."

BOOM!

Sometimes I find myself in such perfect moments I can't even contain it.  Where do I feel my stress?  How about STANDING IN SAM'S CLUB TRYING TO GET TO THE BATHROOM BUT A SALESPERSON KEEPS PUTTING HOT PILLOWS ON ME AND WON'T LET ME GO?

That would have been so perfect to say.

But of course I wussed out. I tried to be polite.  I said, "I feel stress in my foot and I'm not supposed to be standing on it."  (True story. I'm fairly certain I have a stress fracture in my foot.)

Sales guy was not letting me go and he clearly wasn't getting my hint.  "Oh then, you need to apply cold to it."  At this point he broke out the COLD pack and showed it to me.

Again, we are in Wisconsin.  We understand cold packs.  Up here, we use a bag of peas. Costs 89 cents and you have your veggie for dinner when you're done with it.

"Yep, cold and elevation, that's what you do for a foot."

"Yes," says I, "and I am on my way to go home and do just that but you're standing in my way."

You'd think that would do it.

Nope.

Man, I should have told him the stress line.

He extols the virtues of the cold pack, missing three women who came up to his display and acted like they were seriously interested in his product whereas I was just standing there, with no expression, still holding the hot pillow like it was a dirty diaper, and having just told him twice I could not keep standing there.

I finally was done. I was done with him and my body, no longer amused, was done with waiting.  "Look," says I, "I need to go. I need to be off my foot and I need to not be holding this any more."  I tossed the little pillow onto his table and fled.  (I was able to move quickly because the other three women, seeing how involved he was with me, decided to not wait and took off.)

Fortunately for me, I was able to get to the ladies.  Of course, I had my usual "why do you people think this is appropriate behavior in a public restroom" moment, but I've come to expect that.

On my way out of the store, I noted that Sales Guy wasn't near his display. I thought that was weird. And then I saw where he was...accosting a woman who had tried (and failed) to avoid him by  steering her cart behind the block long shelves of salty snacks. Nope, he sniffed her out, and was doing his thing twenty feet away from his display.  She was standing there, red pillow in hand, and she gave me a look of desperation.

I should have stopped to help, but when it comes to those in store display people, it's every man for himself.