M.O.N.

We were looking for a restroom. We're in the middle of nowhere -- literally. The only other people we see are in cars going the other way, and those aren't very frequent. You could lay on the highway, take a nap, and not have to worry about getting run over in your sleep.

Maya has a bladder the size of a walnut, so bathrooms are a frequent stop. She won't pee anywhere else -- not behind a tree, not behind a building, not behind the car. Worse, if a restroom doesn't meet her standards, we'll have to find another.

So we walk in to Taco Time -- a greasy spoon without the spoon -- and the sign on the door says "Restrooms for customers only." That means we've got to buy something. Maya is doing the Tijuana Two-Step, on the verge of squirting right there.

We'd been traveling back home, and this is basically a spec on a map, The Middle of Nowhere, Utah 85700. I order a burrito, and ask for the key to the restroom.

"It's open," the fat girl behind the counter says.

Maya streaks off for the ladies room.

Great. What am I supposed to do with this burrito?
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