Squat Toilets Are Not Meant For Women Over 30!
By Dodie Cross

At my age I thought I'd seen it all. But, after living in Thailand for a year I gave thanks to my mother for seeing that I was potty-trained in the good ole' U.S. of A.

A few days after arriving in Bangkok, I was shopping at Robinson's Department Store. I'd been having some bladder problems, and as many 50-something women find, their lower internal organs begin to drop, droop, sag, bag and demand attention; and we don't ignore it when we feel the familiar sign of wet knickers.

I spotted the unisex sign for "Toilet." I'd heard rumors about squat toilets; thankfully my hotel was kind enough to offer sparkly white Western sit-down toilets. Dare I try this? Logic told me to head back to my hotel, but I had to weigh the time it would take in a tuk-tuk (picture a motorcycle with a bucket seat in the back, held in place by a tin cover), and I didn't think my bladder would appreciate it. I chose the squat toilet. I mean, how bad could it be? This was Robinson's, an international upscale chain.

I peeked inside. I wanted to turn and flee. I gagged. Think Kansas City Stock Yard meets Los Angeles County Landfill. I held my breath until I felt faint. I thought about trying to breathe through my mouth but decided it might be better to smell than to taste. I had to do this. There was no backing out now. I gave my kegel muscles a huge clench and duck-waddled inside.

There it lay, the ubiquitous Eastern squat toilet, waiting for the next feeble foreigner. It was a hole cut in the tile floor, with porcelain inside the hole and a thin porcelain ledge around the top to stand on. The sides were dappled with droplets of doo-doo in various shades of black, brown and ecru.

For my American sisters who have never traveled to a foreign country that offers these contortion contraptions, let my story serve as a high-level travel alert.