I grew up in an Inn. My parents didn’t buy the house specifically for the purpose of opening an Inn. But it’s a very big house, and my mother needed an excuse to furnish it. For the first few years we lived in the house, my mother would take my sister and me on picnics to the parlor. It was just like going to the park, especially since my red and yellow teeter totter was set up in the otherwise barren room. Eventually, as the house slowly morphed into an Inn and my teeter totter was sent outside, my mother started running programs for Girl Scouts. We did all sorts of things. There was blood, corsets, and ghosts galore. But my very first memory of guests at the Inn is from one of the Girl Scout Victorian open houses.
There are two bathrooms in the house: the one for the Inn and the one for our family. Whenever there were huge amounts of guests at the Inn, my mother would lock our family’s part of the house so guests wouldn’t end up prying in her panty drawer (you would be shocked what some people do). Well, I was three and left to run amuck during the program. Some Girl Scout was probably supposed to be watching me, but I was wandering alone in my little Victorian costume anyway.
About halfway through the day, I needed to pee. I tried to go to the bathroom upstairs that my family always used, but the door was locked. I couldn’t find my mother to unlock the door, so I went into the hall to use the scary guest bathroom. To my pee filled dismay there was a line of Girl Scout leaders waiting for the bathroom in my house! I pulled on the sleeve of the next leader in line. I informed her in no uncertain terms that I needed to go potty real bad. She not so nicely told me to wait in line. I don’t think I need to mention that there should be a penalty for any adult who ignores a three-year-old who has to pee.
I went to the next leader in line, but she told me to go and find my mommy. I tried to tell her that my mommy was busy entertaining her scouts, but it was too late. The pee meter was through the roof. I hobbled into the playroom and peed in my lacey dress. Scout leaders started screaming, but I stayed calm and kept going. My mother came running, but I was unabashed. I had done my best to use my potty training skills and had been thwarted at every turn. I stood proudly over my warm puddle, and my wonderful mother still to this day blames the grownups who ignored my distress.