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I'm cleaning out my e-mail after being gone 10 days. A friend sent this funny bit & I thought I'd pass it along. Mods please delete if someone has already shared this. I haven't caught up on all the posts yet.
You may need to stop at the women's restroom
. . . be prepared!
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 dow n 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 bec ause 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 sens or 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 traili ng 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!
You may need to stop at the women's restroom
. . . be prepared!
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 dow n 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 bec ause 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 sens or 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 traili ng 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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