I�ve recently found out that I�m the perfect height for the evil bastards that design public restroom counter-tops.

This is only recently an issue as I just started washing my hands.

Public restrooms to me normally meant:

A) Bars and who gives a fuck if I wash my hands in a bar? I�m usually drunk, or on my way, and so is everyone else.

B) School, where I have no one to impress and usually didn�t have to shit.

Oh, I guess I would wash �em once in a while, but only if somebody else was in there with me. Well, somebody I knew anyway. Fuck strangers, let �em think I�m a pig. I am.

So now I work for this great company and I love it here and am doing everything I can to impress all of these great people. Problem is, there�s almost always somebody in the shitter when I�m in there too. I can get over the fact that this means they are hogging the Sports page that someone always leaves in there (Avs are out, so I don�t really care anymore), but it means I have to wash my hands now. Every fucking time.

So, I turn on the water. I�ve seen this shit done before, I can do this. Then I put my hands under it. Then I reach for soap.

Now�s where our trouble starts. To reach the soap, I lean on the counter with the tops of my thighs. While I�m dripping water on the counter, its toward the back and not likely to hurt any bystanders, but some inconsiderate fuck has dripped his share of the water on the FRONT of the counter. This water has now transferred itself via absorption (and some other physics class shit I forgot) onto my pants� in a perfect horizontal line, the start of which matching up perfectly with where my penis is.

Even if the guys I work with know what happened, they still stare and smirk.

The females I work with could figure it out if they weren�t staring, transfixed, on my wet, now semi-erect unit. They stare because I�m huge.

C�mon people, something clever please.

What I�m thinking is �Yes, I can piss my pants in a perfectly horizontal line. I have that kind of control and I�m awesome because of that.� And that�s what I would�ve said, given the opportunity. Alas, no opportunity comes. The masses are silent.

It�s incredibly hard to embarrass me because I tend not to care about anything concerning hygiene, personal habits or social faux-paus. I say that because I�m not embarrassed, but instead am terribly disappointed in the lack of smart-ass comments and the open opportunity to mock someone who seemingly invites it with such a passion.

Please FUCK WITH ME, it�s the only way I truly know that I am loved.