On Saturday, one more memorable thing happened to me that day, after (1) FINALLY getting my engagement ring back from the jewelry store where we took it to be resized, one month ago (too long, but ah! it now looks and feels perfect on my finger) and (2) having the best movie experience in ages. But this memorable moment wasn't quite so much fun.
I was once again confronted with a Turkish toilet... and this time, I simply could not avoid becoming, well, more intimately acquainted with it. Ahem.
After the movie, we went to Polidor for dinner. Polidor is one of those timeless Parisian bistros which has been around since about 1845. Georges has been going there for at least 35 years; he took me there once before and I liked it so much I suggested we go there to eat after our movie.
Of course, me being me, nature was calling me immediately after the film, but the line for the toilettes was far too long. I figured I could go as soon as we got to Polidor, and after we got seated, off I went in search of the facilities. I opened the first door, marked "Lavabos", and squeezed into a tiny room with only a corner sink, and another door (the WC areas in French restaurants often seem to be arranged in sort of a maze of little rooms like this, especially in the oldest parts of town). Then I went through Door #2.
And my heart sank into my shoes. Because there was this dark cave of a "room" (I don't even want to speculate what was lurking in some of those dark corners), the only light coming from a little cubicle with a blue-painted clapboard door hanging open. I stepped closer, afraid that my hunch was about to be correct...
It was.
[sigh]
Oh well. Sometimes you do what you gotta do. I can still recommend Polidor as a restaurant, but in future I will try to plan ahead and avoid the hole in the ground. 'Twasn't pleasant, but I survived it.
And I consider it a victory that I didn't even get my shoes wet.
