Never flush Versace

Would you still be my friend if I told you I wore a pair of sunglasses that were rescued from a public toilet?

Because I totally wore a pair of sunglasses that were rescued from a public toilet.

What? They were Versace.

Let’s rewind a bit. This all started out with a perfectly innocent trip to Arizona’s Grand Canyon National Park.  After losing $100 at a roulette table (and being banned by Scott from the Forum Shops as a result), I needed a break from Vegas. So I hopped on a charter bus at 6:00 am, thrilled to finally see the grandest canyon of them all.

Having the world’s most negative tour guide was an unexpected, yet not unappreciated bonus.

As we departed Las Vegas he proceeded to tell us in great detail exactly how bad Sins City’s economy was, including the average wages of casino employees and precisely how many of them had been laid off. He lamented about the lack of rain (Only 1 inch per year!), the crash of the housing market and pretty much anything else he could complain about.

He then warned the adults to watch their children so they didn’t fall off the rim of the canyon and die…which he assured us has happened before. He must not have noticed the little ones crying in the seats behind him as this lovely anecdote was followed by countless other vivid descriptions of people plummeting to their demise in a variety of canyon adventures gone wrong.

Fortunately, we reached the canyon before he had time to inform the six and under crowd that Santa Clause isn’t real.

Actually, he probably would have just told them he had fallen out of the sleigh over the canyon and died.

His delightful monologue came to an end with the instruction that while we had been allotted one hour at each of our two stops in the canyon, we could leave after twenty minutes if we wanted to.

Yes, because I rode six hours each way (in the seat next to the bathroom, mind you) to spent 20 minutes at the Grand Canyon so you can get home in time for South Park.

I don’t think so.

My two full hours at the Grand Canyon did not disappoint.

Katrina visits the Grand Canyon

Fedora from Nordstrom, Cardigan from Urban Outfitters, potbelly from the buffet at the Venetian.


Squirrel at the Grand Canyon

Hey, you guys! Forget the seventh wonder of the natural world...there's a freaking squirrel over here!


And neither did the gift shop.

Over the Edge -- Death in the Grand Canyon

Best $25 I ever spent. Seriously, I'm 200 pages in and can't put it down.

I think our tour guide would really enjoy this book.

After our two hours of sightseeing, it was back on the bus for the six hour return to Vegas. I was enthralled with my new book which, all jokes aside, is a fantastic read for anyone interested in wilderness survival.

Yes, I do have interests other than dog clothes and cupcakes.

Upon arriving at a rest stop two hours later, I rushed to the restroom and was horrified when I looked in the mirror. I had spent the last two hours reading on the bus with my sunglasses on. Shades indoors (or behind tinted windows while reading ) are never acceptable.

Unless your P-Diddy* which clearly, I am not.

* As a side note, my P-Diddy name would be K-Titty…which, um, no.

My hands were full so I opted to prop the shades up headband style over my fedora. This was my first mistake.

My second mistake was selecting a stall where the toilet paper roll was quite literally stuck. My fear of all things “germy” has prompted me to engage in a number of bathroom rituals, one of which is always ripping off the first two squares of toilet paper and discarding them before I actually use any. You never know whose hands have been on that paper and I’m not willing to take chances.

As I bent upside down, careening my neck to get a good look at why the toilet paper would not pull apart from the roll I heard a “plop”sound.

I also felt a spray of water graze my face, but we’re not going to discuss that.

I looked down in horror to discover that my $200 glasses had plunged lens-first into the Grand Canyon of gift shop toilets.

Actually, it was a gift shop/gas station/greasy spoon diner, which is so much worse as far as commodes are concerned.

As my mind wandered back to the days when I earned minimum wage cleaning toilets at the Midland McChevron (Chevron gas station with a McDonalds inside) I knew I had it in me. And that’s how my hand became Versace’s own personal search and rescue party.

I emerged from the stall, dripping sunglasses in hand, to a collective moan of sympathy from the women in line who had realized my unfortunate fate. I spent a good ten minutes scrubbing those babies off with all my might, but some things will just never be clean.

I placed the glasses back into their protective case, and tried not to think about it.

Because truthfully, what would Scott wear while sipping candy-striped daquiris if my hands hadn’t been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice?

Scott drinks a daquiri in Las Vegas

I'm digging the blond version of Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka thing he's got going on here. Apparently, so is that man in the background.

I am convinced our marriage works because I’m not afraid to get a little dirty, and he’s not afraid to get a little flamey.

We sure do bring out the best in each other.

***All photos are Scott-approved. I would never reveal his affinity for daquiris without permission.

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