The most beautiful view in Edmonds is from the women’s restroom on the third floor of the Frances Anderson Center. You can see all the way across the water to the Olympic Peninsula.

Not only does the restroom offer breathtaking views of Puget Sound, it’s also cozy-warm. No matter how gray the day is, the radiator creates the perfect temperature. I’ve often wished I could move in, or at least set up a portable desk with my laptop computer.

Unfortunately, on the particular day in question, I practically did move into the restroom … but not to write my next novel.

There I was, having the bathroom experience nobody wants to have, when all of a sudden I heard two tween ballerinas enter the room.

I flushed the toilet and prayed they would leave quickly. The Frances Anderson Center is the community hub of Edmonds. I can’t go there without seeing at least five people I know, especially when the ballet classes are in session.

“Oh my gaaawd!” I heard one of the girls say after fake gagging. Her friend giggled.

Fix your buns and leave, I urged them via mental telepathy. I heard the fizz of hairspray as I flushed the toilet again.

“This bathroom is so weird,” the friend said. “One time I was in here changing into my leotard and a two-year-old boy crawled on the floor under my stall.”

“That. Is. Awful,” said ballerina number one.

I flushed the toilet again and prayed harder. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. The future was terrifying. When I exited the stall I would have to face two young ladies who had heard me flush the toilet three times. Three times!

The normally cozy bathroom became stifling hot. I sweated in my Nordic sweater. Could I wait them out?

“I love this leotard. I wish I could wear it to school.”

“I know, right?”

Darn it, I had to flush a fourth time. Would these girls ever leave? My dignity was shrinking by the second. The longer I waited, the worse it became. Maybe I could slip out unnoticed and wash my hands elsewhere. It was worth a shot! I slid open the lock, stepped outside the stall and saw both tweens staring at me.

I was trapped in a middle school nightmare.

Without moving one facial muscle, I walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. Then I lifted my chin and walked out of the restroom like everything was normal.

I barely left before I heard “Oh my gaaawd!” and the peals of raucous laughter. I chuckled a bit too, because I was mature enough to embrace the ridiculousness of my situation.

Well, maybe I wasn’t that mature. I immediately marched down to the basement bathroom, unpinned my hair, took off my sweater, put on some lipstick and tried to look like a completely different person.

The third floor bathroom? Nope. I’ve never been there.

Jennifer Bardsley lives in Edmonds. Her book “Genesis Girl” comes out Sept. 27. Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, Twitter @jennbardsley or at teachingmybabytoread.com.