My Favorite Letter? Definitely not P.

Buckle up, babies.

The Baroness is going on a major rant.

About public bathrooms.

Again.

It's summer. It's hot. In the great chain of honor, I'm honoring my yogi by honoring my body by keeping it hydrated.

Really hydrated.

Like the great Derek Zoolander once said, "Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty", I tend to be all about the moisture (hence, my great beauty)(which you'll just have to trust me - is there. In spades, baby). As a result of being so moisture-vigilant (because really - have you ever had a dehydration headache? Not so pleasant), there is the subsequent vigilance that must be attended to, say every half an hour or so.

Since we've been gallivanting all over the province this summer with our tres-French exchange student, I have had to attend to this all over the place.

And I gotta tell you.

Well, you know.

Here's the latest corollary of my on-going obsession.

*Warning: Digusting Factor is at Orange. I repeat, Disgusting Factor is at Orange.

1. Toilet Seat Jiggle
How many of us have unknowingly plopped our behind down, only to have the seat skate across the surface of the rim at lightning speed, nearly slamming us up against the stall wall?

How many of us have almost landed on the sticky, icky floor?

How many of us have almost put our backs out trying to right ourselves before we fall?

How many of us have had this thought racing through our head - "How f@%$#ing long would it take for some lame-ass maintenance person to sweep through the restrooms once a week, and tighten the screws that hold the seat on tight?" or "Damn it - I knew I should have brought that combination screwdriver/crescent wrench in my purse!"

So many questions, so few satisfactory answers.

To those accountable for the public washroom (Women's only - like I could give a rip about the Men's), if you're only going to check these necessary pieces of hardware every quarter century, maybe consider installing bars on either wall of the inner stall; so the Baroness has something to cling on to before my ass starts shimmying around like a Ouija Board with a very urgent message from beyond (A B-R-O-K-E-N H-I-P I-S I-M-M-I-N-E-N-T).

2. Floaters - Genus 1

I'm not talking about your usual waste here - I'm talking about hygiene products (oh, the irony) that have suddenly become performance art.

Ladies (and young girls - as you may be new at this kind of thing) - for the love of all that is holy and hygienic - if your tampon magically propels itself out of you into the bowl, GO GET IT!!!

It was yours, and it is your garbage. Don't think that just because the kayak is no longer in the Thule, it's no longer yours to worry about. Take some responsibility, and stop expecting someone else to fish it out because it's icky. Get used to icky - it will happen often in your lifetime.

Same goes for those sad little thong-pads that have lost their glue to fabric quotient. It's yours.

Deal.

I swear to God - when did women start to feel entitled enough to leave this mess for others to take care of? I'm an old-school public washroom user, and this disgusting trend is relatively new.

I blame you, Paris Hilton. You skanky socialite. You, my dear, are ruining the public washroom experience for all of us non-heirs. And it's so not hawt.

I also blame Courtney Love - just because.

Ugh.

3. Floaters - Genus 2
Could you possibly wait to leave the stall until your deposit has, er, cleared? And if it hasn't, whoa! Bully for you - someone is getting enough fibre! Yeah!

But seriously? Keep trying. Take those extra 2 minutes. It's really your civic duty (haha - I said duty...).

4. Mystery Wads of TP Al-l-l-l Over the Floor
Why, why, why?

What's in there that can't possibly be flushed?

Barf.

5. The Sticky Seat
Do YOU like sitting down on a sticky seat? I know that I don't like being ambushed by a sticky seat.

But maybe you're one of those bizarro ex-circus performers who squat on the seat and pee from staggering heights (which also loosens the toilet seat screws - you suck on so many levels - no wonder you're an ex-circus performer).

Reality check - if one were to look at a pristine, functioning washroom (who the f knows where you find such a specimen) (haha - I said specimen) - one could observe that great thought, structural engineering, and history has gone into the design.

You know the one? Where the seat is clean and dry, the screws are in tight, and the act of flushing actually carries whatever nastiness that just occurred away forever.

Sigh.

I'm beginning to re-think the whole Depends thing. And when I'm done, maybe I'll just cavalierly push open the door, and toss it into the nearest public toilet. Right. In. The. Middle. Of. The. Frickin'. Floor.

Because I'm special, and I don't have to do anything for anyone but myself. Screw y'all.

Now get me my chihuahua and a Red Bull.

There. I'm done (haha- I said done).

We're now back at Digusting Level Yellow. Repeat, Yellow.