I prithee, speak not to me in the privy

So I walked into the bathroom here at work, and J, one of my coworkers, was washing her hands. (Not an unusual situation, of course; I only mention it so the rest of this story will make sense.) I went in the stall, sat down, did my business, flushed, and went to the sink to wash my hands.

I have to say that the lighting in our office bathrooms is probably the least flattering in the world; Gisele Bundchen could walk in there and look like Manuel Noriega, so you can imagine what it does to lesser mortals. I always try to avoid looking at my reflection when I’m in there, but today I noticed a silver hair waving in the breeze, taunting me, and I leaned in to try to pluck it out.

Then a toilet flushed and J walked out of the stall and came over to the sink to wash her hands. I thought this was mildly weird, since she’d been washing her hands when I came into the bathroom in the first place, but it was no skin off my critter. My expression must have changed, however, because J said, “Oh, I always wash my hands before I go to the potty.”

Okay. Number 1 (er, no pun intended), I don’t care. Number 2, you’re at least my age, if not older. You are not allowed to say “go to the potty” unless you are talking to a small child or an animal.

And really, what was I supposed to say to that? I chose a noncommittal “Oh.”

As though she were about to impart a juicy secret, she leaned over and whispered, “Because when you touch yourself down below, you could get germs on yourself.”

Okay. Number 1, I don’t care. I mean, I really, REALLY don’t care. Number 2, you’re at least my age, if not older. You are not allowed to say “down below” unless you are talking to a small child or discussing Fire Down Below, the 1997 movie starring Steven Seagal.

Seriously, people, I don't want to sound antisocial, but unless you're telling me the building is on fire, please don't talk to me in the bathroom.