The World Is My Bathroom

Story Submitted by Gary:

Beverly wrote me first over the Internet, and I wasn't sure why.  She seemed nice enough, but we didn't seem to have very much in common, if our profiles were anything to go by.  She was into grunge, metal, tattoos, and punk shows.  I was into museums, skiing, and carpentry.  Not quite a match made in heaven, but for some reason, she expressed a genuine interest in talking to me.

"Your profile's different," she wrote, "and you write very well about yourself." 

Stranger things have happened, yes?  So we talked for a little while, then set up a date at a nearby restaurant.

In all honesty, I guessed that we were too different for anything romantic to come of things, but meeting someone I wouldn't normally meet didn't seem like a bad idea.  At least, not at the time.

Beverly showed up in a nice dress and blouse, but her long, dark hair was out all over the place.

"I had to drive with my windows down," was what she gave as an explanation.

Our waitress came by and asked us if we wanted anything to drink.  Beverly asked for three waters.  The waitress hesitated for a moment (I would have, too) but said that she'd bring three waters over.  I ordered a water and a Diet Coke.

When the waters came over, we were in the middle of a conversation, catching up about our days, when Beverly reached into her purse and pulled out a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

While I watched, she put a tiny amount of toothpaste on the toothbrush and brushed her teeth, right there at the table.

I had stopped talking and was staring when she said, her mouth full of toothpaste, "Give me a minute."

She took a sip of water from one of her glasses, swished it around in her mouth, spat it into another glass, then repeated it and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

She said, "I should've asked her for an empty glass."

"I've never seen someone brush their teeth at the table, before," I confessed.

She said, "I had to rush out of the house.  I always keep supplies on me, just in case.  You'd be surprised how often that comes in handy."

I imagined her brushing her teeth at all manner of dinners.  Did she also clip her nails at the table, too?

Just when I had begun to think that I was being uptight, that maybe I was thinking way too much about this, she pulled out a comb, dipped it into a water, and ran it through her hair.  She then repeated the process, combing her hair right there, at the table.

The waitress came by and asked if we were ready to order.  I had barely looked at the menu, but Beverly, who continued to brush her hair as if nothing was wrong, ordered a sandwich.

I hastily ordered a sandwich of my own, caught the strange look of the waitress, handed her our menus, and returned my attention to the young woman, grooming herself right across from me.

She shook the water out of her comb right there, at the table, and then replaced it in her purse.  Her hair did look better, to be fair, but her hair looking the way that it had in the first place wasn't really a bad thing.  This sort of behavior at the table, however, didn't bode well.

It wasn't until she dipped her fingers into a water and washed her face with it that I said, "Maybe you should finish up in the bathroom."

"Does this embarrass you?"

I asked, "Are you almost done?  Or are you going to clip your nails at the table, too?"

"Ooh!  Good idea!" she said, and pulled out a pair of clippers.

I said, "Would you mind not doing that?  Can it wait until later?"

She said, "I want to look good for you."

I said, "I appreciate it, but I don't think that grooming yourself at the table is the right place to do it."

She made a crazy face, then messed up her hair and licked her tongue all over her mouth, smearing some of her lipstick around.

She said, "There.  That better?  You want me looking good or don't you?"

I dropped the subject, enjoyed my dinner as best as I could, split the check, parted ways, and never contacted the crazy girl again.