Wee encounter

I was in a Madison Avenue diner last week, waiting to use the single cubicle reserved for gents.

The door opened and a small, middle-aged woman emerged. She saw me glance at the little sign indicating that this was the bog for blokes.

"I know!" she squawked in a thick Noo Yawk accent. "Don't even go there!"

Perhaps I should've raised a fuss, just to see if she'd say, "Talk to the hand".