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Table Talk
...by Sy Rosen
I'm sure there are families all over the world who gather around the dinner table and have delightful
conversations about art and literature while Mozart plays gently in the background. Not mine. Our conversations
are, shall we say, earthier, and involves our often ordinary, sometimes eccentric, bathroom habits.
I know there's a stereotype about older people being overly concerned about their bathroom activities.
However, I am not just talking about seniors. My family has always been obsessed with this issue. When I was a
child my mother was constantly hovering near the bathroom door and when I finished would ask, "How was it?" as
though I had just gone to the movies. I never quite knew how to answer that question. If I said it was good,
I would sound like a weirdo enjoying my bathroom activities, and if I said it was bad that might entail a trip
to the doctors or a lot of roughage added to my diet. I usually just mumbled something incoherent and let my
mother fill in the blanks.
Anyway, back to our family dinner gatherings. The conversation usually starts off subtly, talking of bathroom
structures rather than the act itself. My Uncle Hy, who is considered the great thinker of the family (he has
a subscription to Esquire), often discusses the improvements in public bathrooms. He's particularly happy with
the partitions that are now commonplace between urinals so the person standing next to you can't take a look. I
don't think anyone would want to sneak a peek at my Uncle Hy but if these partitions make him feel safe and happy,
good for him.
Uncle Hy, who never met an electronic gadget he didn't like, is also very enthusiastic about the automatic
flush that's now in many public bathrooms. However, my Uncle Phil is offended by this development . . . "It's
like they're telling us we may forget to flush."
"We can't stop progress," Uncle Hy counters.
"Sometimes when I stand up, it flushes before I finish," Uncle Phil complains.
"Why are you standing up before you're done?" Uncle Hy asks.
"Sometimes I like to take a break and stretch my legs," Uncle Phil answers.
"Take a break? How long are you in there?"
"A long time," Phil's wife, my Aunt Irene, chimes in.
Right around the time the main course is served Aunt Gussie and Uncle Mort start bragging that they have a
second bathroom. They have a one-bedroom, two bathroom apartment which according to them is very unusual,
very luxurious, and possibly the highlight of their lives. And they take every opportunity to bring this
extravagance into the conversation ... "I'd love a second cup of coffee. Speaking of seconds, did we mention
that we have a second bathroom?"
Cousin Jerome always uses the term "clockwork" when he discusses his bathroom habits. He is very proud of the
fact that he always goes like clockwork, exactly fifteen minutes after he's eaten.
Aunt Sarah says the she never uses a bathroom outside of her own house.
"What if you have to go?" my daughter asks.
"I just don't do it," Aunt Sarah replies. She then squints her face indicating fortitude, resolve, and the
ability to hold it in.
Aunt Gussie then warns everybody of the safety issues involved in using a public toilet. She tells us not only
to use a double layer of toilet paper on the seat but to always carry some anti-bacterial spray ... "That way
you won't catch the AIDS."
I tell her there is no way you can catch AIDS from a toilet seat ..."And it's not the AIDS, it's just AIDS."
This leads to one of our great family debates that somehow careens wildly from bathrooms to weapons of mass
destruction. It's liberal against conservative and the argument becomes very heated. The yelling continues
for exactly fifteen minutes. At this point the argument is diffused when my cousin Jerome informs us that he
has to go to the bathroom. "Like clockwork," we all say while laughing.
Victoria's Secret is Out
...Georgie Bright Kunkel
I kid you not. I am still wearing the "new" bra I inherited from my sister who died decades ago. Since
neither my sister nor I were particularly well-endowed, I found this one to be just right for me. I went out to
my sister's favorite store and purchased the total supply of this perfect bra since I was told it was to be
discontinued. Even though I had at least a dozen of them, time took its toll and I realized it was time to begin
my search for a new bra.
Just for fun, I walked into Victoria's Secret which markets what, in my mother's day, would have been considered
highly provocative. But time goes on and what was once under the counter is now flaunted in the most upscale malls.
Determined to be upscale, I asked, "Will you show me your 42 B bras, please?"
The young salesperson with the perky bustline didn't hesitate a moment in saying "I'm sorry, but we do not have
that size available." So I wended my way out of the shop past the lifesize posters of voluptuous cleavage,
muttering something like, "I knew that this corporation was catering to the cute little vixens." Certainly
not a big woman like me.
Once more I was assured that I had reached the age of what I call "outmodia." Everything my size or preference
had been yanked from the shelves. I had to find that special shop that caters to the woman who wears a 10½
narrow shoe size and a 42 B bra. But, of course when you shop where a sales specialist hands you her card
stating that she is a certified fitter, you know that your credit card will soon be maxed out.
This penny-pinching shopper was no match for the smooth talking specialist who measures you just below the bust
line and says, "I am sure we can find a fit in a 40C. I will be right back with two bras that I know you will be
comfortable with." In no time I was trying on an underwire so that a miracle of a fuller bustline could occur.
It wasn't until she saw my expression of joy as I looked into the mirror that she quietly quoted a price of $50.
Before I could express shock at the price, she handed me a second one which was plainer and only cost $44.
I had spent the first two hours of this shopping trip finding no aqua shoes in my size and returning walking
shoes that I realized, after a trial on my living room carpet, were more like river boats. I was ripe for a
super salesperson who could satisfy my ten-year search for a bra that fit. My lingerie drawer was full of
tired undergarments representing days gone by. Oh, I did have that one bra that I bought at a Sunday market
in Italy for only $4. But it doesn't count.
One thing about being a mature woman, I don't have to save for my future. I am living my future now and
making the most of it. Who would think that finally finding a bra that fits would be so uplifting?
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Georgie Bright Kunkel is a writer and speaker who co-authored her second book WWII Liberator's Life:
AFS Ambulance Driver Chooses Peace with Norman C. Kunkel. Contact her at
gnkunkel@comcast.net
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