Dear Softball Mom,
It was the bottom of the 4th inning of my son’s never-ending baseball game in the scorching summer heat. I guzzled water from a tumbler like I was on a 10-mile trek through the desert.
So, naturally, I had to … go to the bathroom.
After pulling my sweaty thighs away from the chair (minus a layer of skin too), I walked to the bathroom that was air conditioned.
That was a bonus.
And then, just as I was taking a leak, you, dear softball mom, marched your daughter into the bathroom and proceeded to lose your shit.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HAVE TO GO THE BATHROOM! HURRY UP!” you screamed at your daughter.
“WHAT ARE YOU DDDDOOOOIINNNGGG IN THERE? WHAT IS TAKING SOOOO LONG?” you demanded as you banged on the bathroom stall strong enough that my metal door also began shaking.
I saw you as you strained your neck to peak into the bathroom through the half-inch separation.
“HURRY UP! THEY ARE SWITCHING SIDES AND YOU ARE NOT OUT THERE!” you continued to SCREAM.
You never once told her she was doing great. You never once congratulated her on her playtime. The only thing you did was continually scream at her because she had to use the bathroom.
I’m a mom and sure, I am forever and always telling my kids to “hurry up!” but my God, I have never acted like an ass in public (at least that I can recall …).
You have won that title.
Shame on you for not even allowing your daughter to take a piss. Maybe she had a stomach cramp? Maybe she had to pee so bad it hurt to move (I’ve been there, done that).
Either way, I had enough. It was time for my voice to be heard.
“Calm down, she had to go to the bathroom!” I said to you as I bolted out of the bathroom stall, zipping up my zipper in the process.
You didn’t like me interfering in your shitty fight; and told me so. I didn’t give a shit.
I continued to explain, in a loud voice, that again your daughter just had to use the bathroom.
Eventually your husband heard the commotion coming from the commode.
“What is going on?” he asked you.
“This WITCH, who I don’t even know, was yelling at me,” you told him.
And that’s where you went wrong.
“Uh, your daughter had to go to the bathroom and by the way you do know me,” I said to you, calling you by your name, while removing the sunglasses hiding my true identity of a same-city parent.
No, I was not some “Random Mom” using the bathroom. I recognized you and your family.
And then I looked at your husband.
Yes, you both know me – I only wished you didn’t. I don’t care that I spoke up. Someone had to.
I typically avoid confrontation at all costs – except for bathroom trips. That shit is real. I have had too many instances where I have had to piss so badly that it hurt to actually piss when I sat on a toilet.
Plus, bladder infections are a bitch to deal with for anyone … kinda like you, softball mom.