Okay, so now I'm just starting to sound creepy, which I expect is mostly the 'Evil Within' talking.
I suspect that those of you that are solid viewers of my blog have come to understand that I am a massive fan of chocolate, yo-yo dieting, renovating and going to the gym, but my pet hates? Small people. No, I'm not referring to the bearded variety from Lord of the Rings or the Austin Power's Mini-me - I'm talking about ... children.
I find them loud, somewhat annoying and a consistent irritant under your feet. Yes, I am a shit Aunt and an even crappier babysitter. If I ever had my own, I would probably leave it at the grocery store, let it take rides in the clothes dryer, or possibly brand its forehead with 'do not touch anything'.
So now that we have established I am a sub-par human being and should be exorcised immediately, we can get back to the story.
It was about a week ago, I was having a fairly ordinary day at work and the evil within was stirring particularly hard - malevolent little fingers of naughtiness twisting my insides with possibilities. It was just after three and I thought ... bathroom break. So I left my desk as one does once the urge to 'go' presses upon the bladder and motivates the legs to move forward in search of release.
And then there I was, locked in my stall, finishing my business when I hear the outer doors open. But it wasn't just the doors, it was accompanied by one of those tiny, underdeveloped voices laced with a high-pitched whine.
'Mummy, I don't want to go to this toilet,' the little girl said.
'Sweetie, I promise that the hand dryer will not attack you. It's just loud, that's all,' the mother replied with kind words of inspiration.
The stall next to me closed and locked. I was busying myself with my zipper in preparation to leave, fingers poised on the lock with the intent of washing my hands and exiting this suddenly talkative place of evacuation.
'Mummy, I'm scared.'
'Sweetie, stop being silly. It's just a hand dryer, it's not going to hurt you.'
'But it's loud!'
You're loud ... I thought quietly to myself as I found the wash basins and lathered up. This conversation continued for what I calculated as several seconds, my internal clock clearly biased in its belief that it was really several hours. And, as this mounting fear escalated, my head cocked to the side, my eyes drawn to the wall-mounted Dyson, it's shiny surface beckoning me to dry my now slightly wet hands.
I was now presented with a dilema.
One, do I wipe my almost dry hands upon my pants and save this little girl from an afternoon of tears? Or two, give in to the evil within and then run as fast as I can before they 'out' the bringer of fears?
I am a horrible person, my scruples clearly hitting rock bottom as I slid my moist hands into that dryer with ease, the almost instant scream of terror from the closed bathroom stall behind me filling my ears with dread yet maliciously riddling my face with the biggest smile I'd encountered all day.
I am ashamed to say that I scared the crap out of that kid and laughed all the way back to my desk. On the upside, a colleague entered after me and I do believe that said little girl was scoring an ice-cream out of the experience, so really, I did her a massive, double chocolate chip favour.
Okay, so feel free to judge. Who else has done something like this? Who else has tipped a cow, eaten the last piece of birthday cake or scared the crap out of their husband while peeing? I know you're out there. I can't be the only one who does these horrible things ... Can I???