Corrected First Attempt

Dear Prosperous Snow, Nixie, Dave, Sarah and Dreamin1,

Thanks to your reviews.  I listened to your advice.  The original assignment was from Writing Prompts.  The closing time has come in the mall, and you are stuck inside a toilet stall in the mall's restroom. 

Fine week this has turned out to be.  As if crow's feet and gray hair aren't enough evidence of my advancing age.  Eva, my adolescent-looking family nurse practitioner had the audacity to utter the words, "as we grow older..."  This was her explanation for why I've been branded with the new diagnosis of hypertension.  Eva nonchalantly placed me on hydrocholorothiazide, a water pill.  This seemingly innocent, little, pink pill is ruining my life.  She warned that it was a diuretic and that frequent urination should be expected.  Water is exactly what I'm avoiding.  How am I supposed to offer customer service from the bathroom stall?  Why did I accept employment in a mall office without a bathroom?  Isn't this some OSHA violation?

My supervisor, Corey, is twenty years my junior.  Is he counting my bathroom trips?  What will Corey think?  Will he see me as a tired, worn out, old woman?  Will he suspect that I'm drinking or doing drugs? So much for my sales pitch during my interview about the merits of hiring a stable, mature, responsible individual.  How was I to know?

Why do I subject myself to this kind of abuse?  I have friends who never darken the door of a health care provider.  Eva, the one to whom I surrender my hard earned money to, berated my body mass index of thirty-five.  She strongly suggested that I eat less and exercise more.  Yea right, I'll get right on that.  Darling Eva, shall I do that before I take the grandchildren to school, or before I check on my parents?  The joys of the sandwich generation. 

Instead of my thirty minutes of over indulgence of high fat, high calorie, scrumptious morsels at the food court Eva suggested that I walk laps instead.  Am I to have no vices?  No comforts?  No me time?  Eva, you vile woman. 

Oh well, tomorrow is another day.  I'll just hike once again to the mall bathroom.  Maybe I can count this as exercise, this being my twelfth trip to the lady's room today.  I'm thankful I made it. 

Oh no.  Oh no.  Please no.  Why did I choose the stall with the bent latch?  Its always prone to sticking, but tonight its not budging.  I knew this was going to happen.  It will not open.  What am I going to do?  Where's Larry, the security guard?  He's eager enough to show up at my desk, droning on and on when I've got a report to write.  Where are you now Larry?  Its after 9:00, he'll be down at Game Zone, reminding the kids that its time to go home.  How long will I have to sit here?  Does he even check the bathroom on his closing rounds? 

Don't panic, be cool.  I'm o.k.  I'm a strong woman.  I've survived natural childbirth, hemorrhoids, ungrateful teenagers, an unfaithful spouse, divorce, unemployment, a gallbladder attack, hot flashes, I can handle this.  Just breath slowly, in and out.  I can do this. 

Will my size sixteen fit beneath the stall?  Would it be worth getting down on this nasty floor and wriggling my way to freedom?  I might fit.  What if I got stuck?  When would they find me?  Who would check on me?  Would anyone miss me before morning?  Oh my gosh.  Why is this happening to me?  I'm a nice person. 

There's plenty of room at the top of the stall.  Can I hurl this massive frame up about four feet?  Should I stand on the john and throw my leg over?  Oh no, this isn't like saddling up.  I'll never get my fat leg up there.  Uhhh, not the best of days to wear a snug skirt.  Will the toilet paper holder support me?  Nope, too flimsy. 

What a minute.  Here goes.  I'll thrust my amply proportioned, full figured self into that door until it opens.  Bam!  Ouch.  Just a little more force, not much room for a running start.  Here goes.  Bam.  Open.  Woo hoo!  Freedom!  Take that Eva.  Bet her skinny, little, perfect body mass index, size eight couldn't do that. Ha, I love it. Finally an advantage to being a plus-sized girl.