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 were 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. That would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door 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 that 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 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
restroom
(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
question 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!!
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 were 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. That would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door 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 that 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 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
restroom
(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
question 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!!