Being the pagan scum that I am, I chose to skip the Easter sunday mass and wandered down 71st Street torwards Central Park. Skirting around the Lennon memorial at the top of Strawberry Fields, I joined the trickle of people moving down the trail torwards the water.

uh oh-the 6 coffees I drank at Cafe Luxembourg were being rather insistant on leaving my bladder.

No problem, I'm inna park, I'll find a thirsty tree.

No such luck. There were people everywhere..playing with overpriced little dogs (purchased for the sole purpose of proving to strangers that no, they are not rapists or murderers, because we all know rapists and murderers are not allowed to own a $750 imported puppy from Rhodesia, or playing with overpriced children (purchased for the same reason)- you get the idea.

need to pee need to pee need to pee

So I hop-shuffle torwards the fountain area to the right of the pond..hundreds of fellow squishy humans milling about. Curious lack of signs..I follow the sound of a echoey saxophone down the stairs torwards the fountain..and what to I see?


I joyfully prance inside, my zipper magically sliding down, sweet release.

Hey, this is a pretty nice restroom for a park.

And it was. Spacious. Well lit. No lurking perverts. Even smelled nice.

Satisfied, I ambled out, complete with the knowledge that the next time I was near Central Park, I knew I had a place to pee.

Knowing is half the battle.