By George Dalton
On a recent trip I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. So when my plane landed at the Dallas Fort Worth Airport, I raced off the plane and headed for the nearest restroom. Lucky for me there was no line, so I ran right into an open stall.
I was feeling better when, all at once, my reverie was interrupted by someone opening the stall door next to mine. I was about ready to leave when I happened to look down at the space under the stall partition and I saw a pair of high heel shoes. My first thought was that I didn’t want to embarrass the poor dear, so when I leave, I will leave quietly and she will not realize she is in the wrong restroom. Before I could get the door open, someone opened the door on the other side and, OH MY GOSH; there was another pair of high heels.
Several other people had come into the room, and they all spoke female. My heart rate jumped to the speed of a dentist drill, and I sat back down and tried to breathe. I looked down at my shoes. They were size nine when I put them on this morning. Now they looked to be at least size eighteen.
I was very still and tried not to breathe too loud. Soon the red shoes on my right disappeared and were quickly replaced by tan ones. The black shoes on my left became sandals with bright pink toenails. I had visions of the Dallas Morning News headline: “Pervert arrested in ladies restroom at airport.” And me trying to explain, “Honey, I really didn’t know it was the women’s john. Honest”.
After what seemed like three days, both sides were clear and I couldn’t hear any more foreign voices. I decided to crack open the door just a little to make sure the coast was clear. I looked left and right, then in the mirror over the sink. There was not a lady in sight, so I decided now was the time to make my get-away. As I leaped up, I discovered that both legs were asleep and fell face first out of the stall onto the middle of the floor.
Crawling like a reptile, I made it out the exit door just as another plane load of female speaking people started to enter. All at once, I had twelve well-meaning people down on their hands and knees helping me look for my lost contact. I don’t wear contacts, so we never found it, but I did get the circulation back in my legs.
The only thing good that came out of this experience was that I had brought my pocket Bible, and I did memorize the whole 117th Psalm.