So off I stumbled to the ladies room on heels that were just a little too high (i.e. three centimetres) in a direction that was just a little bit wrong (i.e. I ended up in the kitchen).
Still, it wasn't till I found myself in front of the bathroom doors that the trouble really began. Because for the life of me, I couldn't work out what door I was meant to open.
No, I was not having a gender identity crisis. I was woman, and I needed to wee. The problem was, I couldn't interpret the signs upon the doors. Which sign represented 'female'? Was it the abstract figure doing something nebulous with its foot, or the abstract figure fiddling ambiguously with its head?
Now, I know I was slightly inebriated, but I honestly believe that stone cold sober I would have difficultly interpreting these mysterious signs. Pumped with alcohol, in the dark, with the urgency of a full bladder, I had no hope at all.
What ever happened to the simple 'M' and 'F'? Is it cool to be obscure? Is it in vogue to be vague? Is it fun to watch female patrons anxiously push the door open, a centimetre at a time, hoping for a reassuring glimpse of a sanitary disposal unit, terrified of encountering a - horror of horrors - urinal?
Imagine if they did that to traffic signs. If, instead of 'No Standing' there was a picture of a man in a wheelchair, or a nice frieze of aquatic life. Or, instead of 'Stop', there was a photo of a girl waggling her earlobe whilst pointing to a policeman. You know. As in, "sounds like 'cop'?"
But they won't, of course, because that could risk human lives. Which is clearly a priority. Unlike my bladder, which was at risk of being emptied on the floor of the restaurant.
So in the end, I chose the door on the right. And - low and behold - it was correct. Thank god. Wouldn't have wanted to be confronted with one of those dreaded urinals.
But next time, I'm asking the waitress for directions.
And for those of you wondering, it was the figure scratching her head. Who would have thought?
