Haiku reviews of public bathrooms: Paris McDonalds

Welcome to series in which I review public bathrooms in haiku form. In this entry I visit a McDonalds in Paris. It should probably come with some sort of reader discretionary warning. Or, if you'd prefer to use more modern vernacular, "tmi, girlfriend". Paris train station: If you want friendly faces Not the place to…

Fiji Travel Journal Part Two: Airports, Adoption and the Kindness of Strangers

Catch up with ‘Part One: Donuts, Margaritas and Waistcoats’ here! Thursday 20 September I wake up. Head fuzzy. Where am I? It’s dark. Ohmygod. There’s a woman. Right there. She’s tall. Thin and tall. She’s staring at me. Watching me sleep. Seriously, where am I?! Who is this stranger?! Is she going to kill me?!…

The morning after

Slowly, reality comes, seeping in the edges of the world. Ok. What’s going on? Who am I? Female. Kate. Yes. My mouth tastes like a sock. Do I want to open my eyes? Not really. Compromise, just one? Ok. Eyelid prised open. Is this my bed? Good. Am I alone? Thank god. Where is my…

Liz Lemon’s Workout Gives Me a Sense of Deja Vu

Liz Lemon eating a McDonalds caramel sundae on her treadmill is supposed to be funny. I mean, it IS funny. I'm not disputing that. But when I saw this scene I was struck with a secondary emotion: that cringey embarrassed feeling of recognition. Because, here's where we hit confession time: I have literally ridden an…