There's nothing like side-by-side automatic butt-drying to
get a day started.
We are at the outlet stores in Merrimack, NH, a place so
unadvertised along the roadside (except for one billboard in the Lowell area)
and tucked unto the trees that unless you know exactly what your mission is,
you'd never find it. The place is well
organized, everything compact and in walk-able, interconnected rectangles,
unlike Kittery, Maine, where you have to get in your car and drive from place
to place, backtracking as necessary and swearing if a lane change is needed or,
god forbid, a change of direction might be necessary.
We arrive early, find a front row parking space (we actually
have the pick of about 95% of the expansive lots), and walk around with several
other early birds. The outlet doesn't open
officially until 10 a.m., and it is 9:40 when we pull in. Luckily it is a nice day weather-wise, which
is good because the stores may be connected, but to access each, you have to go
outside and face the elements.
After hitting the restroom, which we really don't need but
no point in thinking about it thirty minutes from now when we're off to the
races with other shoppers, we decide to sit in the gazebo. The view from this area is really nice,
mountains in the background, and I have forgotten how much I miss this. I spent many of my formative years in the
next town over from this, where we ran and biked and skied and sledded and
plotted in our three acres of trees and mini-trails.
My daughter and I check the gazebo seats with our hands
before sitting down. They are dry, so we
figure we are safe. Her future
mother-in-law is with us, too, and she sees us decide it's safe to sit down and
sits down without checking, sitting squarely in a small but chilly seat-puddle
of rain water. Moments later I realize
the morning dew is actually dripping off the back of my chair, and I, too, have
a round wet spot forming where my back right pocket is. In other words, I have a damp upper butt
cheek. MIL has a long flat damp spot
across her rear end.
Normally this kind of thing would aggravate us, but we're
not easily embarrassed nor do we worry about little dark, damp spots on our
hineys. It's not like we peed our pants
or anything, and it's not like anyone else there gives a crap about our
butts. Everyone is there to do exactly
what we're doing: Shopping.
We remember the bathroom has air hand dryers. We know this because we have already hit the
bathrooms in preparation for a marathon session of store-browsing. There are two dryers, side by side. Thankfully no one else is in there when we
enter, so we get the dryers going, turn around backward, and stick of bums
under the warm air. Since we are not
drenched but merely damp, this process does not take long, and everything is
fine and good until a woman walks in and immediately sees us under the
dryers.
My daughter thinks this is all quite hilarious and tries to
take our picture to post on Facebook for the entire world to see. I, on the other hand, do not find it so
humorous. Seriously, there's little in
the world that is sadder than having your picture posted with your ass cheek,
still covered in damp capris, straining to reach an automatic hand dryer.
To be honest, this is not my first butt-cheek-to-bathroom-hand-dryer
encounter. It happened to me years ago after
getting caught in a squall/tornado on Squam Lake, reeling off the boat,
wandering to my car, and driving south while completely soaking, do not pass
go, do not collect $200. I stopped at
the Burger King in Ashland, NH to pull the same ass-drying stunt, except I was
so incredibly wet that it did little good.
Today, though, the dryer trick works. We are good to go within about four minutes,
dry and dew-less, ready to tackle such tasks as finding "Andy's undies"
and overdosing on the fantastic fumes inside Wilson's Leather. Honestly, do you think this tale is posted
for its normalcy? Normal is not in my
vocabulary. Well, it is, but not when
describing me or my karma.
As for the day spent shopping, well, it's a tough job, but
someone's got to live it. Might as well
be me. I mean, I dried my butt off and
everything just for this occasion.
