“Whoever designed public restrooms was definitely a man,” I continue my rant to the judgmental fish trophy. “Stand, point, shoot—that’s your entire process. Meanwhile, I’m playing Twister with a rainbow trout just to avoid contracting seven different diseases.” The toilet paper disintegrates when I touch it, leaving me to MacGyver a solution with the least suspicious-looking paper towels and hand sanitizer. “And don’t get me started on period emergencies,” I tell the fish as I attempt to wash my hands in a trickle of water. “Every man should have to navigate a gas station bathroom wearing
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