Welp. I’m here.

There’s no time to get to a matinee unless I can get my luggage, score a cab to my hotel in Times Square, stow my luggage, brush my teeth—hoo boy do I feel like I need to brush my teeth—find the theater, get a ticket and get myself comfortably seated in 14 minutes. I’d say it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibilities, BUT I REALLY WANT TO BRUSH MY TEETH.

But!

BUT!

After we got off the plane, I saw Cap’n Assholepants go into the men’s room ... so I decided to follow him—not in a winkie-lookin’ way but in an I-genuinely-needed-to-pee way. He found a bank of empty urinals and took the end one. So I violated centuries of sacred Urinal Distance Bro Code and took the one RIGHT NEXT TO HIM. I peed just fine ... but he was clearly doing the No Tinkling Sounds Sighs Of Frustration And Backed-Up Plumbing Pee Shy Urgency Dance. Because DON’T KICK ME UNDER MY SEAT OR I WILL FLOOD YOUR BLADDER, BACK UP YOUR URETERS AND SYSTEMATICALLY DESTROY YOUR KIDNEYS, BITCH.

Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have a week of merry musicals to enjoy.