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Thought you might enjoy this......
>
>
> 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. Is that why she looks SO mad?
>
> 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 Mum, no doubt) is handy,
> but empty.
>
>
> You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, but
there
> isn't - so you carefully, but quickly hang it around your neck, (Mum
> 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 bag. (Oh yeah, the bag 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 bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest,
> and you and your bag 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 chewing
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 toilets. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long,
and
> why is your bag hanging around your neck?"
>
> This is dedicated to all the women everywhere who deal with a public
> toilets. 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 toilet in pairs.
>
> It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand
> you tissues under the door!
>
> This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
> accurately!
>
>
> 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. Is that why she looks SO mad?
>
> 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 Mum, no doubt) is handy,
> but empty.
>
>
> You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, but
there
> isn't - so you carefully, but quickly hang it around your neck, (Mum
> 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 bag. (Oh yeah, the bag 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 bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest,
> and you and your bag 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 chewing
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 toilets. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long,
and
> why is your bag hanging around your neck?"
>
> This is dedicated to all the women everywhere who deal with a public
> toilets. 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 toilet in pairs.
>
> It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand
> you tissues under the door!
>
> This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
> accurately!
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