I recently received this in an e-mail and sent it on to a few friends. I thought maybe you all might get a smile or two so I am posting it here. I have to say that I identified with several of the problems mentioned here.Hope you enjoy and if anyone has a funny story to share please go ahead!
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 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 mom'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 on 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 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
that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto
the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that
point, you give up. You are 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.
Now, 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 into the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your male companion, 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.
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12/02
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