A girl walks into a bathroom (I know, you thought I was going to say “bar,” didn’t you). Not a swanky powder room — a restroom. One of those office‑building bathrooms that houses roughly 3,000 people a day. Twelve stalls, six sinks, two full‑length mirrors, and — for reasons known only to the universe — a scale.
A scale. In a public restroom.
The girl wonders, “Why is there a scale in here?” Was it the building super’s afterthought? Did he think he was doing us a favor? Because you just never know when you might want to hop on and check your numbers in front of strangers, right?
If it were one of those scales that spit out a magical fortune, okay, maybe. But a plain metal scale? Not so much.
So, she ignores it. Because tempting fate never works out the way she wants it to. She enters a stall, sits to pee (yes, that rhymed), and enjoys her moment of solitude.
Until the door opens.
Someone else enters. Two people now in this massive restroom. Twelve stalls. Eleven empty. Endless possibilities.
And what does the newcomer do?
She chooses the stall right next to the girl who was just trying to pee in peace.
Now… do I believe in karma (cue today’s daily prompt and the inspiration behind this true tale of woe)?
Let’s just say this: Karma doesn’t always show up as poetic justice or cosmic retribution. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it’s petty. But it’s always there, lurking in the corner, waiting to tell you something you may or may not want to know. Just like the scale … then again, maybe karma is simply the woman who chooses the stall right next to you in a twelve‑stall restroom when all you want to do is be alone.
Cover image created with Jetpack.
If this spoke to you, be sure to “like” and share it over social with someone who’d appreciate the flavor …
DISCLAIMER: These are my personal experiences and opinions. Nothing here is medical, nutritional, or therapeutic advice. Also, I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox


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