Shawn worked long hours, and at home there were diapers to change, bottles to warm, and feet to rub. He had only four sacred, personal minutes each day to kick off his pants and relax.
One day, he was interrupted: “Daddy, I hafta gooooo!”
Curse you, potty training, he thought.
This story is based on a title suggested by Zach Denoncour.
There was a door at the end of the hall.
No one knew where it led. Some said a bathroom. Some said a secret cellar. Some said France.
Only one man claimed to know the secret.
He died in a car accident. No one asked very many questions after that.
This story was based on a title suggested by @C_h_a_s_e_y.
Cheeks burning with the scalding flames of embarrassment, he walked swiftly in the opposite direction from which he had come. The startled shriek and the accusing scowl had brought him to the sudden realization that the pink room containing no urinals was not a place in which he was welcome.
Hayden always reads the signs now.