“What are you doing, granny?”
“I’m just putting this toilet paper here.”
“Erm. To protect you, sweetheart.”
“Yes. Against germs”
“Toilet germs,” rising alarm.
“Yes. There are germs in toilets that other people use. So if you sit on this, you’ll be protected.”
“Thanks, granny… Granny?”
“Why don’t you use the paper?”
“I’m not going to touch the seat when I wee.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m just going to, erm, not sit down.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I sort of sit down a bit, but not all the way. Then I do a wee. Without touching.”
“Can I do that, granny?”
“You’re too small to be able to do that. But when you’re bigger you will.”
Overheard in an English Heritage lavatory, somewhere on Hadrian’s Wall.
I’m not a hoverer. I pretty much just sit down and get on with it.
Though I’m happy enough to squat outside, and can even do so without weeing into my shoes.
In foreign parts, I’ve contentedly negotiated all manner of holes in the ground with and without places to put your feet. Hovering, though, is too much hard work. How can you have both your thighs firm enough to maintain the desired elevation and your everything else relaxed enough to go? Do you train for it?