Cathartic Ink

putting my own spin on things

You’re a sheila…

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So, I went out for a nice, grownup-esque dinner with my
beloved friend Paul. We went to the outback steakhouse and parked nose-to-nose with a Cadillac Escolade, who’s owner
thought (s)he was special enough that (s)he parked halfway over the yellow line, forcing Paul to leave the tailend of
his car actually half into the driving lane, however it was the only available spot in the entire lot. We had a fairly
long wait to be seated, the place was swarming, there was a sportsmans show and the girls college basketball
preliminary tournies in town today so the city was bursting. At any rate, the evening was fantastic. The food was
great, the company was great, the conversation flowed and was great, the beer was great, and most importantly, the
waiter was great. He was so pleasant, and Paul and I agreed that he was a very handsome man…At one point I asked him
where the restrooms were (this being my first trip to the outback) and he pointed them out, leaned in closer and said
confidentially: “you’re a sheila”, which caused me to wonder if perhaps the male restroom was labeled something unique
that might be hard to descern male from female. I arrived at the restrooms to find the doors labeled Sheilas and
Blokes. I had to shake my head and laugh at that one. I’m pretty sure there must be some confusion about it on a
regular basis, because he didn’t say it in a way that meant he thought I was stupid.

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