I am starting to think there is something about me, international travel, and bathrooms that simply does not mix.

This is not my first bathroom disaster.

It will not be my last.

Apparently, every country I visit has decided that in addition to seeing the sights, trying the food, and experiencing the culture, I should also be tested under extreme restroom conditions.

Prague was no exception.

We were out walking around when suddenly I needed a bathroom.

Not eventually.

Not in ten minutes.

Not, “Oh, if we happen to pass one…”

I needed one NOW.

I had no idea if it was something I ate that wasn’t agreeing with me, if all that heavy Prague food had finally caught up with me, or if my stomach had simply decided that this was the perfect moment to betray me in a foreign country.

Whatever the reason, there was no time to investigate.

We had an emergency.

Then we spotted a Starbucks.

A familiar place.

A bathroom.

This particular Starbucks required you to purchase something before you could use the restroom. Your receipt came with a code that unlocked the bathroom door.

Fine.

At that moment, Starbucks could have charged me $47 for a muffin and I would have paid it without hesitation.

Sarah got in line to buy something we absolutely did not need while I stood nearby trying to maintain the appearance of a functioning adult whose internal organs were not seconds away from declaring war.

Finally, we got the code.

I grabbed it and practically launched myself toward the bathroom.

Where, naturally, there was a line.

Of course there was.

Because apparently my digestive system and the entire population of Prague had coordinated their schedules.

So there I stood.

Clenching.

Sweating.

Trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

Internally repeating:

Please hurry.

Please hurry.

Finally, it was my turn.

I punched in the code, got inside, closed the door, and made it.

Victory. Crisis avoided.

I could relax.

Or so I thought.

Because after I finished, I reached for the toilet paper.

Nothing.

I felt around.

Nothing.

I checked the dispenser like perhaps I had suddenly forgotten how toilet paper worked.

Still nothing.

Completely empty.

And let me make something very clear:

This was NOT a situation where you could just shake it off, pull up your pants, and move on with your day.

We were well beyond drip-dry territory.

We needed equipment.

I immediately texted Sarah.

“HELP ME THERE IS NO TP! HURRY. SOMEONE CAME IN. PLEASE HELP.”

Then I stared at my phone.

Nothing.

No response.

SARAH.

THIS IS YOUR MOMENT.

FORGET WEDDING VOWS.

FORGET SICKNESS AND HEALTH.

I NEED TOILET PAPER.

But she hadn’t seen the message.

Meanwhile, I could hear people outside waiting for the stall, completely unaware that a full-scale international bathroom crisis was unfolding six feet away from them.

So I began taking inventory.

There had to be something.

A tissue.

A paper towel.

A napkin.

An emergency roll hidden somewhere.

A Czech bathroom miracle.

Then I saw it.

One square of toilet paper.

On the floor.

Wet.

I stared at it.

For longer than I would like to admit.

There are moments in life when you discover exactly how desperate you are.

I was desperate.

But I was not wet-floor-toilet-paper desperate, as if that one sad, wet square was going to be enough to solve the situation anyway.

So I looked in the little trash can.

Now, before you judge me, understand that this was no longer normal decision-making.

This was survival mode.

I wasn’t rummaging through garbage.

I was conducting a resource assessment.

Unfortunately, the assessment revealed absolutely nothing I was willing to use.

So there I was.

Stranded in a Starbucks bathroom in Prague.

No toilet paper.

No napkins.

No help from Sarah.

A line of people waiting outside.

And one wet square on the floor that was somehow becoming more offensive every time I looked at it.

I considered my options.

There were none.

And then I realized…

I was wearing underwear.

I would like to formally apologize to that pair of underwear for what happened next.

They had done nothing wrong.

They had traveled all the way to Prague with me.

They had been loyal. Dependable. Completely innocent.

They deserved better.

But sacrifices had to be made.

Off they came.

And that is as far as I am going with the details.

Some things should remain between a woman, her underwear, and God.

I handled the situation.

Improvised.

Adapted.

Overcame.

Then I pulled myself together, opened the bathroom door, and walked out.

And there was still a line.

Several people stood there waiting for their turn.

I looked at them.

They looked at me.

And I knew something they did not.

There was no toilet paper in there.

None.

Did I warn them?

No.

Now I am not proud of this.

But I had just been through something.

I did not have the emotional strength to become Prague’s Bathroom Ambassador.

I walked past every single one of them and headed straight for Sarah.

She looked at me and asked what had taken me so long, completely unaware of the survival decisions I had just been forced to make in that bathroom, ones that would stay with me for the rest of my life.

I looked at her and said:

“Do not ask me any questions. We need to go back to the room. Right now.”

Naturally, she wanted to know what happened.

Nope. Not now. Just walk.

And off we went through the beautiful historic streets of Prague, surrounded by centuries-old architecture, cobblestones, cafés, and tourists happily enjoying one of Europe’s most beautiful cities.

And there I was.

Walking back to our Airbnb.

Commando.

There are people who leave Prague with crystal, artwork, magnets, or beautiful souvenirs.

I left with one fewer pair of underwear.

And somewhere in a Starbucks trash can in Prague was the evidence of just how badly an innocent bathroom stop had gone sideways.

Travel teaches you a lot about yourself.

It teaches you patience.

It teaches you adaptability.

It teaches you how to handle unexpected situations in unfamiliar places.

And sometimes it teaches you that when life gives you an empty toilet paper dispenser…

you sacrifice the underwear.