You step inside the bathroom and shut the door.

You lock the door.

Get a good look at yourself in the dim lighting. You look great. Remember this because you’re about to look more vulnerable than a baby antelope at the watering hole during lion lunch hour.

Unsnap (they’re always snaps) the top two snaps. Then, resnap them.

You go back to the door. Double-check to make sure that it is locked. Jiggle the handle. Shake it.

Once you’re sure it’s locked, unsnap all the snaps and zipper (there’s always a zipper too), and slide your arms out of the sleeves. Unpeel yourself, you big, stupid banana.

Look down at your chest: you’re either wearing the bra you’ve had for too long and that you tell people you wash, but you’ve never washed it, because you’re worried it’ll lose some of the comfort it brings you. Or you’re completely naked. There is no in between.

Hold the top of the jumpsuit under the back of your thighs so that it’s not touching the floor (gross) and also not touching the toilet (gross). This will be difficult but necessary.

Bend your legs and assume a sitting position. You are ready.

As you are peeing, cold and alone, you consider the history of your choice: you’re wearing a garment originally designed to be worn in factories around dangerous machinery or by fighter pilots or people jumping out of planes. You have a Substack that you send out sometimes and pile everything on the floor so you don’t have to build shelves. The jumpsuit you’re wearing tonight was purchased at Madewell with a gift card your grandmother gave you.

The door handle jiggles. You’ve never known fear until then.

You say some combination of words to let the potential intruder know that the bathroom is occupied. Your voice is at a higher pitch than you’ve ever reached before.

You pee faster.

You reach for toilet paper while still managing not to let the jumpsuit fall to the ground. You are so brave.

Somehow, the door opens, and someone walks in. They back out with apologies, but not before you make full eye contact. They have seen you. There’s nothing you can do or say. Everything will be different from now on.

You finish, suit yourself back up, wash your hands, and get back out there. You see the person that saw you. They are sitting at the bar with friends. You are both telling the story of what just happened, and, for a moment, there is a sense of unity. The jumpsuit has made you one.

You keep drinking until, once again, it’s time.