Chirky

When I was in middle school, or maybe elementary school, I hated washing dishes. My distaste for the task was so great that on one occasion I actually hid from my mom after dinner.

My childhood friend, Megan, was at my house, and we concocted this plan to hide in the bathroom after dinner. We cleared the table and successfully snuck away. I hid behind the shower curtain and Megan crawled inside the linen closet.

We were in there, whispering and quietly giggling, when we heard the door open. Someone flipped on the light, and then the door shut. I didn't know what Megan was doing, so I held myself as still as I could, and breathed as silently as possible hoping that our mysterious disappearance wouldn't be short-lived.

I heard pants unzip, and the quiet creaking of the toilet as someone sat down. Then, the sigh of relief. As I recognized the voice behind that sigh, my entire body tensed and I became afraid. If my dad caught me hiding in the bathroom, I would be in T.R.O.U.B.L.E. I finally decided just to wait it out, because How Long Could This Take?

The scent filling the air informed me that this trip might take longer than I originally expected, and after a full minute of absolute torture to my nostrils, my tiny and timid voice reached my dad's ears: "Daddy?"

Silence.

"Jessica, what are you doing in here?!?"

"Ummm" ... (long pause) ... "hiding from mom?"

An eternally long ten-second silence ensued.

"Dad, can I leave?"

"By all means, please do."

"Dad? Megan is in here too."

"Girls, get out!" he bellowed.

I don't know how Megan managed, but I closed my eyes and darted for the door.

Since that day, I've been traumatized. I am entirely unable to use the restroom in anyone's home without first checking behind the shower curtain. EVEN IN MY OWN HOME, EVERYTIME I WALK INTO THE RESTROOM.