Bathroom Ballads and Restroom Recitals

Stacy was feeling wiped out, so to give her a few moments peace and quiet I took the kids out for Pho after church. Fortunately, it would turn out, we had the restaurant more or less to ourselves. There were a couple of other people there, but they were mostly waiting on take-out orders or off on the other side of the room. About midway through our meal L decided she needed to go to the bathroom. I risked leaving N alone at the table while I walked L around a divider wall to the bathroom at the end of a little hall. I opened the door and switched on the light for her. It was a big bathroom, quite clean and covered with tile. Letting her slip in, I shut the door behind her and returned to the table.

N and I quietly enjoyed our lunch of soup and cha gio (Vietnamese eggrolls) while waiting for L to accomplish her mission. She took her time. Having learned the L doesn't like to be rushed in these matters, I waited more and more impatiently. Then, from around the wall and down the hall I started to hear what sounded like distant, high-pitched chirping. Was that a trapped bird or something in the kitchen that needed oiling? Confused, I couldn't make it out at first, but slowly it dawned on me. L, off in the bathroom, evidently impressed by the tile-lined acoustics, was pouring out her heart in inspired song. As she swelled and built to a crescendo I nervously glanced around the restaurant, which was, as I previously indicated, blessedly empty. I hoped she'd quickly conclude the ballad, but alas, the aria proved a long one and I was forced once again to play the odds and leave N unattended at the table while I went and gently encouraged Maria Callas to wrap it up.

"You could hear me?" asked L sheepishly as I walked her back to the table.

"As could most of Harbor City," I replied.