I almost exposed myself to Philadelphia this weekend.
Or rather, the women of Philadelphia. I was in the airport there, flying home. (I spent the weekend with amazing friends, surprising one for her birthday. I didn't know what to get her, so decided that I would do as a gift.) I generally enjoy airports, unlike 98.3% of the population. You're never far from some type of coffee, and the people watching is second only to amusement parks.
Anyway, I stopped in the restroom. (As another sidenote, there is such a difference in airport bathrooms. Some cities have great stalls with room for your luggage and a shelf so nothing goes on the floor. And some look like everyday bathroom stalls, without even a hook for your bag. Ew. Philly has nice ones, I am pleased to announce. One important detail, though, is that the stalls open outward, towards the sinks.) As I was...ok, not important. You do not need details. I was doing what one does in the restroom, I noticed that my lock was undone. Somehow, my backpack had knocked the lock out of place when I hung it up. By the grace of God, the weight on the door stopped it from swinging freely. Which I dearly appreciated once I realized that the doors do in fact open OUT. Had it done so while I was indisposed, I would not have been able to lean over and lock myself back in. It would have been out of reach, and then, my friends, I would have had a VERY AWKWARD encounter with the woman at the sink directly in front of me.