This entry is part of the Diary of an Anime Lived series.

Like most people, I was amused watching episode eight of Sora no Woto.  That silly Kanata can’t do “number one” without a bathroom.  Oh my, how quaint!

This screenshot seems de rigeur.

It was Saturday morning, so I was eating a full breakfast: eggs and bacon, lots of fruit, toast with peanut butter and marmalade, and a pot of tea.  Delicious.  After the episode, I decided on a whim to catch a bus to Kobe.  En route, out of curiosity, I purchased a Sakura Frappuccino from Starbucks, which was actually kind of cinnamony.  I also ate some Pocky in lieu of lunch.

I found a movie theater and saw that I was too late for Nanoha (darn), but that I could still catch a showing of Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works (brilliant).  While waiting, I stopped by Nankinmachi and bought a few egg rolls for dinner.  They were a bit stale, but they hit the spot.  I washed them down with a Coke Zero.

By the time I got back to the theater, a whole day of eating very rich foods finally caught up with me.  I had to go.  I found the bathroom next to the concession stand.  It was large, but quite clean, and it didn’t look like anyone would be coming in for a while.  Perfect.  I made my way to the stall at the end of the room.  I opened the door and looked in, and I saw what was there.

I backed away and shut the door.  I opened it and looked again, just to make sure.  But my eyes didn’t deceive me.

It was a Japanese-style toilet.

Hmm, I thought.  This is a predicament.  But, nope!  No, no, no.  There’s simply no way…  I mean, for goodness sake, you’re squatting like…

But I have to.  I must.  It’s reaching critical mass.  I mean really, Japanese people use these all the time, so why am I so hesitant?  It’s not so bad; it isn’t like this is just a hole in the ground.  There’s plumbing and a drain and everything.  All I have to do is get in there and…

I— I, can’t.  I won’t! They can’t make me do this!  This is barbaric!

Just as I was weighing the options (A – use that thing, B – soil myself, C – die of kidney failure), I saw my salvation to the right:  A handicapped stall, complete with western-style toilet!  I did a quick thank-you to the Goddess of Mercy, and I did my business in peace.  But how would this have been resolved if I didn’t get that easy out?

It’s been a long time since psychoanalysis was considered a science, or even right about most things, but Freud got one thing on the nose:  Toilet training in western society can really mess you up.

Kanata.  Girl, sweetheart, darling.  I get you.  I so get you.