It has come to my attention that some of us—
not mentioning anyone in particular—
have become indifferent to our bathroom etiquette.

I will be the first one to admit that
I am not perfect.
I will admit that I am guilty of some of these habits from time to time; however,
more often than not, I have been burned.
I have been burned bad, and I
refuse to sit idly by and tolerate it any longer.

For those of you who practice these vile acts
repeatedly, it is clear to me that you must have no regard for others.
If you did, you definitely would remember to do things like
flush the fucking toilet after you use it.
Did you forget that you just used the bathroom in the time
it took you to zip up your pants, pull up your skirt, or
drop down your dress?
I know we're all busy being strong, independent individuals,
but come on.
It literally takes a second to push the little lever down.
I think we can make the time.

And speaking of time, how long does it possibly take for you to pee?
Look, I get it.
Unlike men, girls have to place the toilet cover down,
wrap up the toilet paper, and wipe front to back.
(This is sarcasm by the way.)
What I don't get is why it takes fifty million years for this process to happen.
Now, I'm a pretty patient person, but when I gots to go,
I gots to go.
"You've been a girl for 18 years now, though.
You should know
how to work your peeing schedule around the lines."
Um, no.
If you think I'm going to sit down and develop
a mathematical formula to figure out how soon in advance
I have to make my way towards the bathroom
in order to avoid traffic and subsequent bladder eruption,
you have another think coming for you.

To make matters even worse,
once it's finally my turn to enter the stall,
I'm greeted with one of two things:
Used feminine products sprawled around the floor,
or a urine-covered toilet seat.
Sometimes if I'm lucky, I'll get to see both.

Once again, ladies,
I get it.
When Aunt Flo comes to town, it's not a good time:
your emotions are a mess,
every day seems to be a "fat day."
Your head hurts; your back hurts; your stomach hurts;
damn it, even your ankles hurt.
Niagara falls is gushing out of your vagina every thirty minutes
(and every time you sneeze)
all because of one freaking egg.
Seriously, all of that blood is for something that
is only 100 microns wide.
That's millionths of a meter.
But I digress.
The bathroom is an essential space for you during this time, and
I understand that there is nothing nicer
than ripping off that soiled pad and
slapping on a fresh one in its place.
I get it, I really do.
It's revitalizing. Transforming even.
What I don't get is why I have to see it.
This isn't the MoMA.
This isn't a place for you to display your
Jackson Pollock-inspired paintings.
If you miss the trash can, pick up the pad and
throw it away.
Simple as that.
As for the urine on the seat, I don't get it at all and have absolutely
no sympathy for this kind of behavior.
Please, someone explain to me how it is possible for the
entire toilet seat
to be splattered in droplets of piss.
Someone explain how it is possible to completely miss a 10-by-18-inch target
when the shooter is literally on top of it.
But most importantly, if you've discovered that you've left the toilet seat
looking like it caught a bad case of yellow chicken pox—
which you would obviously see if you remembered to turn around
to flush the toilet, cough cough—
Wipe. It. Up.

And finally, to top it all off, once I've done my business,
I can't even wash my hands right away because there is a crowd by the sink.
This crowd, however, is not made up of people
waiting to wash their hands,
but is made up of people who are fixing their hair and doing their makeup.
There is nothing wrong with giving yourself a quick touch-up.
Using the bathroom is a perfect opportunity to redo
a braid that has become disheveled or to
re-apply lipstick that has faded.
Maybe you also spritz some more of that perfume you put on this morning.
What you should not do, though,
is gather a group of your friends and hold a braiding circle
right in front of the sink.
What you should not do,
is bring your blow dryer, curling iron, flat iron, or any other type of iron you have
and spend six hours trying to do your hair.
What you should not do,
is bring the whole Sephora store with you and give yourself
and your 10 friends a makeover.
What you should not do,
is tell me that you were here first when I ask you to move over so that I can wash my hands.

All in all, I'm not asking for much.
I only ask for a little bit of mindfulness.
Do your business and get out.
Flush the toilet after you've used it.
Clean up after yourself.
Let people wash their hands.
Ladies, these are simple things.
You can do this.
I believe in you.
I believe in us and a future where dignity
in the girls' restroom is restored once again.

Thank you.