But it was not to be.
I was not allowed to pee.
It turns out that while the museum wasn't yet open, there were people inside, and one of them, a burly "gym guy" who looks like he's very good at following orders, giving orders, but not so very good at thinking for himself or using common sense, barred the door and told me "we're closed." When I asked (with my most cute and slightly pathetic voice) if I could just scoot in to use the toilet, I was told "no." So all I can hope is that one day this guy's wife will be heavily pregnant, will have the terrible urge to pee, and be denied access to a federally-funded museum space that his and her tax dollars paid for. Then, maybe then, he'll understand my pain.
Or I could just kick him in the nuts.
Instead, I hopped on my bike with my friends and rode out to the outhouse along the way that is open year round and not guarded by a gorilla-type fella.
So while our door-to-door ride was a chilly 40kms all up, I'm just happy that I didn't pee my pants. Phewf!
Over and out,
Joy
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