When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually
find a line of women, so you smile politely and take
your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet
under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking
down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet
your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers'
(invented by someone's Mom!!, no doubt) is handy, but
empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if
there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but
quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn
over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank
down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles
begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you
certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay
toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach
for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper
dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's
voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the
seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!'
Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose
on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh
yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have
to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same
time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your
thumbnail
Someone pushes your door open because the latch
doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is
hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and
you and your purse topple backward against the tank of
the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for
the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled
tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing
altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET
SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all
too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made
contact with every imaginable germ and life form on
the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet
paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken
time to try. You know that your mother would be
utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain
her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat
because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind
of diseases you could get.'
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the
toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a
stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of
the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers
your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes.
The flush somehow sucks everything down with such
force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper
dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the
spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're
exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you
found in your pocket and then slink out
inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with
the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with
spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of
women still waiting.
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A
kind soul at the very end of the line points out a
piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where
was that when you NEEDED it?? ) You yank the paper
from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell
her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since
entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed,
he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your
purse hanging around your neck?'
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a
public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!).
It finally explains to the men what really does take
us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked
questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto
your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could
describe it so accurately!
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Originally Posted by Colapop
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