Let me set the scene: it’s a brisk spring day in Paris. The HB and I are at the Museé d’Orsay. For many reasons, it’s our favourite museum. It’s more than the contents, though that can’t be beat. It has an incredible collection of modern art especially the Impressionists.

It’s more than the structure: it was a railway station that has been converted magically into a light-filled ode to art. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of entering the building. Its long central hall has rooms filled with treasures off to each side. At the far end there is an exhibit for the child in each of us: miniatures of the great buildings of Paris, including a cut-away of the Paris Opera. The best though is the exhibit in the floor under glass of the Opera district of Paris with Haussmann’s boulevards in their full glory. Adults react to this model in reverential awe. Children always get it right, they start walking all over the glass. They treat this Lilliputian Paris as the fun thing it’s meant to be.

It’s more than the ambience: from the huge railway clocks to the wonderful restaurants, it’s a welcoming palace of art. There is one restaurant, on the quay-side of the museum; that is moderately priced and serves excellent food. This is where my story begins.

We had a wonderful meal. I had an outstanding Potage Crecy (a creamy carrot soup). We were well-sated when we strolled back out to the museum. Then, nature called. “Need to ‘spend a penny’” I said. HB and I aimed for the loo. These particular conveniences were located down a narrow hall and across from one another.

We got in our opposite lines and waited. What I noticed immediately was that HB’s line was moving rather quickly. While I waited in the hallway, he moved up, in and out. “I’ll just wait for you over there,” he said nodding to the corridor beyond. I grimly agreed. Now, I was really feeling the pressure on my bladder.

I looked to the men’s line. It was non-existent. Each and every man had gone through. The women’s line was getting ever longer and didn’t appear to be moving at all. I was fearful that I might sneeze, that would be a disaster: I was sure I’d pee my pants. As I inched forward, I could see that there was no one in the men’s loo and that it had about 3 stalls along with the urinals. Suddenly, I made up my mind. It was time to go to the barricades.

Rather loudly, I declared that I had enough and was de-camping for the men’s loo. The other women seemed hesitant, but I never looked back. As soon as I disappeared into the gent’s, a line of women followed me. It was like ants at a picnic. Suddenly, and without intending, we had commandeered both loos.

And it was sweet. I have never taken such a pleasurable pee in my life. Some confused men came in, but none of the women moved. We used the stalls and washed our hands and walked out with heads high, laughing.

As I reached the hallway, I saw that the women’s line had entirely disappeared. HB enjoyed it so much he declared, “Vive les femmes!” “Formidable!” said I