This entry comes from my recent ‘activity’ in an outhouse where, due to the height of the toilette seat, I was forced to scale the wooden bench of the toilette seat area that holds the toilette seat in place.

I’m 5’6” and couldn’t daintily reach the toilette and so am convinced it was built by some Viking whose ancestors ran – and probably still run – through snow.

Vikings are large, can weather the cold, are blonde, have horns, and are relatively dirty – don’t blame me, blame Hollywood – and so peeing and having bowel movements in such conditions is ok by their standards. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a Viking > Just look at my photos > I don’t have visible horns. And honestly, I’m not being Vikingist; some of my best friends are Vikings. But. See. I have a bidet in my home. Please understand that both I and my bum are spoiled (& very clean).

To confirm am not a Vikingist, Gerry Butler, the man I covet and whom I apparently bagged behind my own back, once played a Viking. At least I think that’s what Beowulf was. I dunno…maybe he was just a Scotsman lost at sea and forced to wear chain and make out with Sarah and get hit in the head with stones and question authority and ask “But what is a troll?” with a straight face.

And did I mention I have a bidet in my home?

Right. So, as I was using magic to hover, balance and ultimately scale the side of the wooden bench of the toilette seat while my pants were down and not touching any part of the outhouse and repeating the “I’m a Princess…” mantra, I thought: How very Tom Cruise of me, à la MI when Tom was still cool and not with Syrian child and KATE and hanging out above LA in his space ship.

Wait, what?

Anyway. So while I was doing the above, I was thinking that although I’m no Viking Tom Cruise, I sure do some interesting stunts worthy of MI behaviour. The most illustrative of this is that of the constant tripping and falling (case in point: Yesterday afternoon a few of us lunched at an upscale restaurant. I’m a spaz and wore flip-flops…and naturally, I tripped. But only once. In front of the entire serving folk. Who all smiled kindly at the handicap tripping up the steps.)

So I’ve started to play a new game, just to honour the MI part of Me. I now run at doors that are slowly closing and try to make it through them before they close completely. This doesn’t always work, and I usually trip, but it’s still a lot of fun. And you know, it’s not that I have to even go through that particular door – because I usually don’t – but that’s ok, because I’m Me, and Me = some kind of handicap).

Just moments ago, I saw the men’s washroom door closing…beckoning me. And so I ran to it; I had to gently slide up against the wall and not move until the door made it past me as it closed. BUT I WAS IN! And there were only two men in the washroom. How great.

Such a rad game.

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