The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear

The Tale of the Stall of Great Peril

The road home to Logan is fraught with danger and excitement.

Many people in the Salt Lake Gay community believe that the northern frontier of civilization ends at Memory Grove and the southern boundary is located at Oxbow Park.  For the rest of us, we realize that there is a whole other world out there populated with fascinating and hunky studs, but a little or even a lot of driving may be necessary. So I put on a comfortable yet stylish frock and my opera-length driving gloves and off I go.

After attending an event in Salt Lake, when I’m driving home to Logan late at night I need a big mug of Diet Coke to keep me caffeinated enough to make the trip without playing my “Sleeping Beauty” impersonation and running off the road.  But should an accident occur, have any of you noticed how cute the EMT guys are?   And those uniforms, Yum, Yum!  My mother always said, “You should never leave the house without clean underwear in case you’re in an accident”.   That is unless you have a propensity for certain, shall we say unconventional fetishes, then anything goes.

On my way home from the Salt Lake Men’s choir rehearsal, it was midnight, and after drinking 32 ounces of Diet Coke when I got to the Brigham City Rest area I really did have to pee.  Although if a cruising opportunity was to present itself to me, I of course would have obliged.  After all, I have not logged enough “Community Service” hours this spring and I have been feeling very “Service Oriented” lately.  And thanks to Senator Larry Craig from my home state of Idaho, (how proud am I?) the whole world now has expanded knowledge of proper Rest Room Etiquette.

Long story short – While “holding court” on the throne, really as a Queen I must complain to UDOT that 3 feet by 5 feet is much too small for a proper throne room, and fishing for the toilet paper, actually I was feeling so inspired by reading the graf-filthy written so artistically on the stall wall, that I was carried away in transcendental (dirty) thought and I lost hold of my car keys. To my horror, they went plop straight into the dark and wet abyss that is more commonly referred to as the toilet.  My Queenly training and Miss Manners’ book on etiquette had not prepared me for such an event.

This was very serious as that is the one and only ignition key for my Buick Roadmaster that exists on the planet.  I wrinkled up my nose and stuck my hand down into the water.  Unfortunately, whoever designed the thrones for rest areas made them too small to accommodate an adult male hand.  God forbid some poor sucker leave a really large turd, it would result in a stoppage that would resemble the breaking of the Teton Dam.  This really could have been a “LITERAL OH SHIT MOMENT” but luckily I just only had peed.  Sorry, those of you with a scat fetish will just have to be disappointed, although if you’re into water sports let the yellow bandanna fly!

In desperation, I’m looking around for something to reach down into the toilet with to fish the keys out.  Nothing in sight.  I go outside and try to find something.  I see some twigs in the bushes behind the building and I start toward them.  Trust me I’m no stranger to bushes at rest areas.  Just then a cute 20-something stud starts to enter the restroom.  I feared that he might flush the throne which contained my keys so I abandoned the twig idea for now and returned back into the restroom, following him in.  Indeed the stud started to enter the “STALL OF GREAT PERIL”.  I think I frightened him (now realize that I pretty much look like a big old troll) when I rushed in behind him and asked him not to use that stall.  I wish I could have taken a photograph of his face. He looked like he thought that I was escaped from the mental ward.   So I go back outside and finally get a twig and head back in.  It took 5 minutes of trial and error and much muttering of swear words, to finally fish the keys out. 

So this event leaves us with several questions:
1.  How do you sanitize keys?

2.  What kind of story is that stud going to be telling?

3.  I washed my hands until they were raw, do you think that is enough?

4.  Is this really the life of most trolls or just me?

5.  Where’s the bridge I’m supposed to be under?

6.  Was it the carpel tunnel that caused me to drop the keys or a subconscious need for adventure?

7.  What is the long-term effect of urine and toilet water on nail polish?

8.  According to Larry Craig, how wide a stance is proper in the stall?

9.  How fast should the toe-tapping be?

These and other eternal questions are to be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap-Smear.

Happy Driving everyone. 

Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear was born a boy in a Mormon family in a small Idaho town in the year of the cock. No, really, look it up. As is LDS tradition, at a month old her father blessed the little Petunia in the ward house on the first Sunday in June. The very next day, they tore the church house down. Probably for good reason. Little did parents Jack and Orthea know that their little boy would grow up to be a full-fledged, rainbow flag-waving, high heel-wearing, sheep-tending “Ida-Homo.” The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear follows her life from the sheep-tending Boy Scout of her youth to the full-figured and brash queen she is today. Her adventures in the many Queer-Tanic trips, the Salt Lake Men's Choir, the Matrons of Mayhem, and Utah Prides and Lagoon Days have been canonized the past 15 years in a monthly column in QSaltLake Magazine, Utah's publication for the LGBTQ+ community. These tales and her words of wisdom were corralled into a 355-page book that will become the Quint to the Mormon Quad. See it at

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