Not so known facts of life

When girls go to the bathroom, they don’t want to be bothered.  It is just a known fact between women.  Guys have their “bro code” and women just have known facts, like never discussing what kind of fruit the women’s breasts at bunco represent.  Like men who aren’t “with it” when it comes to bro code, some women are completely oblivious to the facts women should know.

In a frequent trip to the library bathroom, a young lady had found it her business to tell me everything she ate that day.  She followed with, “so, how do you feel about Obama?”

She can’t be serious.  She preluded with a high fiber protein bar and concluded with Obama?  I didn’t eat a big enough breakfast for this. 

I responded, “I don’t really like politics.  But I don’t have a problem with him.  I think people are going to have an issue with whoever the president is.”  She nodded, agreeing.  Nothing could have prepared me for what came out of her mouth next.

This may be more than PG so I am just forewarning readers that even though it is a natural process, caution when reading on.

“Have you ever had a yeast infection?  Or an STD?” For those who aren’t familiar with other facts, Virginia is not discussed unless you are a good friend, significant other or relative.

Period. 

I am a complete stranger to this girl. I am first a little offended because does it look like I’m the type of girl that would contract an STD frequently?  But then again I have to remember that this girl clearly had more on her mind than going about her duty in the bathroom because we had been standing at the sink for almost five minutes.  In the time it took her to get out everything she needed to say, I had moved from the sink to the paper towel dispenser.  A whopping two feet.

At this point I wouldn’t have been surprised had she admitted she was hiding a body in her backpack.

I would like to know what made this girl so sure that I wanted to hear about her unfortunate situation.  Maybe she didn’t have anyone else to tell.  Or maybe she’s trying to self diagnose.  Whatever the case, I wish her the best but I apparently shouldn’t look so personable next time.

Terrified for what would be asked next, I briskly made my way to the door.  “Wait,” she said.  “I didn’t get your name.”

I replied with, “Virginia.”

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