Oh, you’re heading to the bathroom to pee? Hold on, buddy. Let’s not do anything crazy. We have a good thing going here. As long as you’re standing next to me, I’m a normal person at a party. The second you walk away, you destroy everything. One careless move by you, like going to the bathroom, and suddenly I’m a person standing alone at a party. Is that the kind of sick, twisted thing you want to happen?

What am I supposed to do then? Look at my phone? I will. I’ll look at my phone as if it’s a rare, beautiful crystal I just pulled from the earth. But that can’t hold me for an entire bathroom trip. While you galavant off to the pee palace to have the time of your life, I’ll be out here on Instagram liking and unliking the same photo of my niece over and over like some dipshit who doesn’t understand how parties work.

Talk to someone else? And say what exactly? Ask them how they know Jason? They’ll say something worthless like “from college.” And then what? By that point, you’ll still be mid-pee and I’ll be forced to ask a complete stranger what their job is when they clearly don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather chug this entire plastic container of store-bought queso than hear about the academic floor of Jason’s freshman dorm.

You take one step toward that bathroom and I become the biggest freak in the room. What do you think is in there that’s so great? A toilet? Sure. A sink? Probably. But that’s where it ends, my friend. You think Jason owns a hand towel? Get real. Don’t waste your time on the most disappointing room in the house.

Oh, I should get another drink? So I can give myself a stupid little task while you blast pee into a toilet with reckless abandon? That will eat up two minutes at best. Three if I take my sweet time and pretend it’s really difficult to pour liquid into a cup. And then what? Where will I go with this new drink? Did you even think about that? Should I inch toward a circle of strangers having the best conversation of their lives so it sort of looks like they’re my friends?

Look, I don’t want to scare you, but I heard there’s a troll that guards Jason’s bathroom. A real mean son of a gun. And if you don’t answer his riddles in a way that satisfies him completely, you’re trapped inside there forever like some kind of toilet genie. Trust me, you don’t want that. When’s the last time you think Jason’s touched a toilet brush?

Listen, I can make it worth your while if you stay here. I’ll give you an entire handful of corn chips, no broken ones or fragments. I’ll hack into Jason’s party playlist and put on “Sweet Caroline.” When we leave this party, I’ll take you to as many bathrooms as you want. We’ll go on a bathroom tour of the city. Just you and me. My treat. The most beautiful bathrooms you’ve ever seen. Artisanal soap. Golden toilets. The smell of eucalyptus wafting through the air as you pee and think, “Wow, I’m so glad I didn’t go to the bathroom at Jason’s party like some kind of idiot.”

What does a toilet have that I don’t? So it’s full of water and it flushes and has a seat. Who am I kidding? I can’t compete with that. Just go. You’re gonna love it in there. I can tell. I bet you’ll make countless friends on the way to and from the bathroom. By the time you’re done peeing, they’ll be carrying you on their shoulders, raving about what a piss hero you are. You won’t even hear me calling your name over the deafening chants of “Three cheers for the piss hero!”

But is that really all you care about? Peeing? Whatever happened to loyalty? Whatever happened to standing next to the person you came with the entire time no matter what so they don’t have to feel weird for a few minutes? You would break that sacred party code for something as trivial as going pee-pee?

If you cared about me even a little you would’ve worn a diaper.