How To Use A Public Restroom While Wearing A Romper

You got this.

Allison Hirschlag
Sep 9 · 3 min read

Psych yourself up in the mirror. You look effortlessly adorable, just like the Refinery29 article said you would. You can do this. You don’t need Greg anymore to feel like a beautiful woman.

Illustrations by Sarah Wickliffe

Assess your romper. How many impossibly tiny buttons do you need to unbutton in order to free your torso? Did your mom really need to tell you that you don’t have long enough legs to pull off short shorts?

Shout what sounds like German profanity in response to a hasty handle turn. Silently curse all parents for not teaching their children how to knock. Or hold doors open. Or make eye contact when breaking up with you.

Wonder if you should’ve maybe stopped at three triple shot lattes.

Wonder why no one’s come up with a romper that has buttons around the crotch like a baby onesie or breakaway pants.

Make a mental note to throw away Greg’s breakaway pants.

Start unbuttoning your delicate romper buttons.

Curse your parents for your lack of dexterity/not forcing you to learn a musical instrument.

10 minutes later, after you’ve only managed to unbutton two out of six buttons, employ a twist/shimmy/figure eight combination move that, ironically, is totally what you were going for at the club last week. Slowly but surely, your upper body should start to emerge a la a baby rhino being born in the Serengeti.

Before you start celebrating your achievement, however, make sure your legs are splayed wide enough to catch your romper before it touches the floor, because that slight glisten is most likely not Mop & Glo.

Watch your phone, which you had in one of your pockets, fall to the floor, and remember how you once called said pockets the “best part” of the romper.

Maintain your wide leg stance and do a slow backwards shuffle until you sense the toilet is near. Now proceed to squat until your butt is hovering over the bowl, all while keeping your legs far enough away so the romper doesn’t touch the toilet’s base. If you catch yourself in the mirror looking like a backwards Giraffe whose legs got stuck in a pinafore, you’re doing it right.

Pee.

Cry as you feel the sweet relief wash over you. Text your mom to tell her you love her, and you know her judgmental comments are just the result of unresolved issues that she has with her own mother.

When you’re done, hoist the romper up while forcing your arms backwards so they make it through the arm holes. At this point, you should look like one of those sadistic ghost monsters from the 2001 classic “Thirteen Ghosts.” If you dislocate your shoulder in the process, try throwing yourself against the door to pop it back in all while yelling “everything’s fine! I’m just exercising,” so no one calls the police.

Only button one of the six buttons, because nothing matters anymore. If you’re dealing with any back buttons, start calling all your loved ones and saying goodbye, because you live in this bathroom now.

As you exit the bathroom, wink at your reflection in the espresso maker. The patrons in this coffee shop can think what they want, but you’ve just achieved the impossible, so who cares if you’ve already been laid off twice this year and stopped flossing?

Take a photo of yourself and tag it #FashionFriday

Realize you forgot to flush.

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

Allison Hirschlag

Written by

Writer of varying attitudes. Words at Allure, Audubon, Weather, McSweeneys, Weekly Humorist and elsewhere. You can’t call me Al.

Slackjaw

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

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