Why Women Use Going to the Bathroom as a Reward

Several years ago I had the good fortune of hearing a comedienne (yes, that is the legitimate spelling for a woman comedian) Wendi Fox at Snow College. As part of her routine she asked why women use going to the bathroom as a reward. As in, "I'll go as soon as I finish washing these dishes." or "I'll go as soon as I finish changing the laundry and fold the big pile." Until eventually you forget you had to go until hours later when you have to go again and you can't remember if you ever went when you needed to before (admit it, this has happened to you).

But having moved to Korea I think I've figured out the real reason why.

If you live in an arid place, like Utah, you may not fully appreciate this. Likewise, if you have never worn nylons with a skirt and a slip you cannot appreciate this.

I used to think Ohio was  humid. I was wrong. During the 5+ weeks I have been a resident of Korea we have had a grand total of 5 sunny days. Some days it hasn't rained, but it's been overcast. Most every day it rains. Some days it's not legitimate rain, it's more like the sky is sweating on you--like this moist, hot dew that just condenses on your body.

It is under these conditions that I have had to go to the bathroom. 

Remember with me, if you will, those times when you've gone to the swimming pool and no sooner than you have submersed yourself in water you get the "I-gotta-go-NOW" sensation, so you do the bent half-shuffle to the bathroom, avoiding running so as not to attract the attention of the life guards, only to get into a stall where you peel the saturated suit off your wet self. Sitting on the seat you're not sure if everything coming from your person is making it into the bowl because you have, what you hope is just water, coursing down your legs. 

And you can almost forget wiping.

As soon as your soggy fingertips touch the paper it practically melts to your flesh, let alone trying to get enough to the place where it's supposed to perform its purpose. If it does get there the majority of it has flaked off onto your thighs and there's a mass of floating toilet-paper bits in the bowl.

Then comes the most arduous task. Getting the wet swimming suit back on. No matter how much you dance, wiggle, shimmy, jump, twist, shake, tug, pull, jerk, shove, stomp, or squat that sucker is not going on right again.

This happens when a woman wears nylons as well. Getting them on is difficult enough, but as soon as they're partially pulled down for a pit-stop there's no getting them back on right without starting from scratch. Conditions must be just right for a successful nylon application attempt to be succesful. Bathroom stalls are not incubators of good fortune in that department.

You may think I'm wandering, but here comes the point.

Combine all those elements and it's like going to the bathroom in Korea. No. I haven't been swimming. It's just that humid. I've found I avoid going to the bathroom, not because I find going a complete waste of time (which I do), but because I want to avoid the fiasco of getting everything put back together again.

My take is not that I use going to the bathroom as a reward, but as a process of procrastinated punishment and effectual torture.