This is funny but so very true....
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!
A Friend Is Like A Good Bra...
Hard to Find
Supportive
Comfortable
Always Lifts You Up
Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging
And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!
