Jay had a soccer tournament today. He had games at 8:30AM and 2:30PM and, with the fields over an hour from home, we spent the entire day there. "There" was the Polo Grounds in Poolesville, MD. The "entire day" meant arriving at 7:45AM and departing at 4:30PM.
The Polo Grounds complex is basically a huge expanse that's been mowed and lined to create 8 soccer fields and a couple of parking lots. There's not a single tree on the complex. There's also no running water and no indoor plumbing. That makes the Polo Grounds a not so fun place to be when it's 90 degrees under a blazing sun and you're there for over 8 hours.
While at the Polo Grounds, I had to make two trips to the Port-A-Potty. I tried to keep it to just one but I couldn't do it. The first time it was still mid-morning so things weren't so bad. The second trip, though, came at half-time of the second game. I thought I had entered the gates of hell.
You never know what you're walking into when you open a Port-A-Potty door. I always take a big gulp of fresh air before I open the door. I know it's not going to be enough to allow me to hold my breath the entire time I'm in there, but I still do it. After taking that breath and opening that door, I remind myself that there's no need to look at anything when I'm in there. Just do your business and get out, I say to myself. Easier said than done, right?
Here's a question for you. Why is it always a good 20 degrees warmer inside the Port-A-Potty than it is outside? Can't they do something about that? And, I know they're trying to be helpful with that hand cleansing stuff that comes out of the dispenser. But, what is that stuff? I always use it and immediately end up regretting that I did. It smells wierd, it's sticky, and it leaves a crusty skin on my hands after it dries. Ick.
I am telling you -- there is absolutely nothing worse than a trip to the Port-A-Potty on a 90 degree day. Well, actually there is - being a woman and having to make a trip to the Port-A-Potty. I don't even want to think about it.
As if the two trips to the Port-A-Potty weren't bad enough, I'm sitting here typing this with a ridiculous sunburn that will be turning into a stellar farmer's tan in a couple of days. Nothing screams "idiot" more than a suburbanite with a farmer's tan. Oh, well. That's me.
This is where the magic happens.
