And now, a Mama-related toilet tale

Post-tennis: Mama and some weird chick with a Rafa cap

Every Saturday morning, I wake up at the ungodly hour of 5 AM (or thereabouts) so I can play tennis with my parents and their friends. I have been joining this group for a while now, and I'll be the first to admit that one of the reasons I like this particular group is because I am the youngest member. This helps me cling on to every last minuscule drop of my fading youth. Sadly, in this group, age often seems to be directly proportional to tennis skills. My 82-year-old tennis friend who has undergone multiple-bypass surgery has a better forehand and the most frustrating drop shots.

After one morning tennis session, Mama and I went to the ladies room to change into clean shirts. I'm pretty sure we were the only two people in the room, and Mama immediately entered what I shall henceforth label stall #1. A minute later, I entered stall #2.

(Now I'm questioning the utility of numbering the stalls. And using the word 'henceforth'.)

While we were both still inside our respective stalls, I heard another lady (I assume she was female, given that we were in the ladies room – I'm smart that way) enter stall #3 ...

... and she proceeded to ... let's say ... unload mightily.

And by 'unload', I mean poop.

Just to be clear.

The peaceful and sanitary quiet in the room quickly became a heavy, tension-filled, olfactory nightmare, which was extra stressful for me because, while we all had to bear the stench coming from stall #3 (Aha! The purpose of numbering!), I had a feeling that Mama did not know that a third person had joined us.

Just as I suspected, from stall #1 came the resounding:

"May ginawa ka bang masama???"

(Translation: "Did you do something evil?!?")

Mama's accusation, which was obviously playfully directed to me, hung over the three stalls like a horrifying echo that bounced across the cold tiles and enveloped me, the accused, and lady in stall #3, the unfortunate culprit/victim.

Weighing all the possible next steps, I had no choice but to turn to stone. After all, what else was there to do? Should I have replied out of courtesy? "No, clueless mother. A stranger who can undoubtedly hear both of us is causing the air pollution."

I stopped moving and breathing (useful, given the current odor) and waited until I heard the frantic escape of stall #3 occupant from the toilet. I doubt that any handwashing transpired in those crucial moments of flight. Not that I blame her. Getting out of an awkward situation trumps personal hygiene.

And that was when I exited my stall and saw my mother nonchalantly combing her hair as though no embarrassing incident had transpired.

"You do know that it wasn't me, right?"

"How was I supposed to know there was someone else?"

And that was that.

The moral of the story: Never assume ... especially about ass-related issues.