If you have ever traveled by car with me on a journey that is any longer than an hour, you are probably more familiar with my bladder size and capacity than you care to be. That being said, I can attest to the fact that I have visited my share of little girl's rooms in my day.

So after a few ice teas and a couple glasses of water (and there is a slight possibly that a gin and tonic may have made its way into the mix) at a restaurant called the Cactus Club, I obviously needed to excuse myself from the dinner table.

I am pretty sure that tonight I got a small taste of what heaven will be like.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how bathrooms were meant to be.

Seriously, I would move into this bathroom. Fireplace, couch, TV. You can't even see the intricate mosaic art on the floor or the leather chairs on the other side.

But wait, that's not even the half of it.

Each stall was not only a self-contained unit (no one asking you to pass TP under the wall here), but they were big enough to freely turn around and seal without having to shimmy up against the wall, one leg splayed on the other side of the toilet just to get the door shut. I could totally have done jumping jacks in that stall (and did). I could have lay down on the floor in that stall it was so big (did not). It was like my own private little function. I wanted to open the door and invite people in to have little party (also did not).

Wait, it gets even better ... I know, I know you are thinking, as I was, how could there be more? But there is!

Dude. Get this. The toilets flushed by pressing a button on the floor with your foot. The floor! Foot flushing! Genius! I was so excited to foot flush that I almost fell over trying to flush and pull my pants up at the same time. How has this not become standard bathroom technology? No more wondering what disease you might catch if you actually touch the toilet handle. No more automatic flushing just because you sneezed while sitting on the can. And with a certain amount of dexterity one could certainly learn to flush and dress simultaneously. Imagine the time-saving possibilities!

No, seriously. I really do want to move into this bathroom. Throw a tub into one of the other stalls and a phone so I can call upstairs with my lunch order, and I'd be all set.

If in the near future I am suddenly MIA, someone may want to check the bathroom at the Cactus Club on Broadway in Vancouver.

This post is dedicated to Steve, who, while he had the opportunity to experience bathroom bliss, declined to indulge and must now live vicariously through me, forever knowing that he too could have foot flushed, and didn't.