No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.Clearly, it had to be stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly shameful shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but big things were afoot.I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next-door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 DB louder than it needed to be.Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day. But I was too polite to yak about it in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms. I hear Jack and Arnie, my other two mechanics, quickly stop what they’re doing and wash up in the heavy duty sink in the back of the 3-bay garage. I take my time, knowing I need to brace myself for the fire that will flow through my bloodstream as soon as I enter the office where Alyssa will have my take out order spread out on my desk for me. I hate myself for the reaction to her but it’s inevitable. The reason I hate is because we’re coming up on twenty years of friendship, Alyssa and I, and I don’t want to do anything to screw that up. But, God help me, I want her! Any time. Any day. Anywhere. Alyssa Collins is the sweetest, kindest, funniest woman I know. And the most loyal friend a man can ask for. One of many examples of her loving and loyal nature being that she took me in during the wee hours of the morning after Jenna informed me that our marriage was over. When Alyssa had opened the door to me, all rumpled and sleepy but wearing a smile, I’d immediately known everything was.
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