My subject title is a good question, isn’t it? And it’s one that enters my mind often, especially when I experience something like I did today.I was shopping in Wal Mart with my my and kids. Bianca announced that she had to go to the bathroom. This, of course, was contagious and suddenly her older sister had to go, too. Since Jennifer was busy with the shopping, I agreed to take them to the bathroom.

Both of them are too little to go to the Women’s restroom on their own, so they had to follow me to the men’s room. I know this is an uncomfortable arrangement, but the girls are also too young to think anything of it.

Well, apparently it was too much for a burly, heavyset gentleman. He entered the bathroom gabbing on a cell phone. Bianca was in a stall and Aryanna and I were standing by, waiting for her to finish. The man told whoever was on the other end of his phone line to hold on.

“What’s goin’ on here?” the man asked me. His breathing was louder than his

“What do you mean?” I replied.

“What… well… little girls in the men’s room? What’s the deal with that?”

“Well, I’m their father and they had to go to the bathroom. What do you want me to do?” He huffed angrily.

“Well, but expectin’ guys to go to the bathroom in front of them. That’s low.” He turned around and started for the bathroom door, apparently choosing to neglect his bladder until later. Because I have a mouth that can’t stay silent when my kids are involved, I could not resist my next comment.

“Not as bad as talking to someone on the phone while you go to the bathroom.” He paused and stared at me as if he wanted to reply, but stormed out.

Okay. I realize seeing two little girls in a men’s bathroom might make you a little uncomfortable. And I’m sure it’s a little weird for my girls, too. But that man had no place to say a word to me about it. He doesn’t know me. What if I were a single father? What am I supposed to do, send my six-year-old and three-year-old into a public bathroom by themselves? I remember when my parents divorced (I was five) my mom had to choice but to take me to the women’s. It made me feel weird, and I’m sure a few of them were uncomfortable, but never, ever, do I remember any of them making comments about it. I’ve got to be honest… I had to practice good self-control to keep from following him out the door and bombarding him with those questions: Do you have daughters? What if your wife left you alone with them, or died, and you’re shopping at Wal Mart when one of them has to go.

Grrr… This kind of stuff just gets to me. Okay, I feel better now.