sandy73
11-16-2004, 03:50 PM
The Restroom
> > ==========
> > I thought you ladies just might appreciate this. The Real Restroom
Story
> > Only a woman will TRULY relate to this (and husbands will better
> > understand...)!
> >
> > My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little
girl,
> > she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe
the
> > seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the
seat.
> > Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.
Then
> > she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the
> toilet
> > in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make
> > contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg
and
> > we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
> >
> > That was a long time ago.
> >
> > Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly
> difficult
> > to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to
"go"
> in
> > a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you
think
> > there's a half-price sale on Victoria's Secret underwear in there. So,
you
> > wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing
> their
> > legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the
> stall
> > doors. Every one 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 new fangled "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 hang 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." Ahhhh, relief. More relief.
> >
> > But then your thighs 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" as your thighs experience a quake that would
> register
> > an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of 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 would have 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, and sliding down, directly onto the
> > insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, 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 ashamed of you if she knew, because
you're
> > certain that 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, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that
> > suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the
> toilet
> > paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point,
you
> > give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You
try
> to
> > wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, 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 a line of women, still waiting,
cross-legged
> > and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
> >
> > One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are
trailing
> a
> > piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River!
> > (Where was it 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 since entered, used and
exited
> the
> > men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.
> > Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse
hanging
> > around your neck?"
> >
> > This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to 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 woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under
the
> > door.
> > ==========
> > I thought you ladies just might appreciate this. The Real Restroom
Story
> > Only a woman will TRULY relate to this (and husbands will better
> > understand...)!
> >
> > My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little
girl,
> > she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe
the
> > seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the
seat.
> > Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.
Then
> > she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the
> toilet
> > in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make
> > contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg
and
> > we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
> >
> > That was a long time ago.
> >
> > Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly
> difficult
> > to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to
"go"
> in
> > a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you
think
> > there's a half-price sale on Victoria's Secret underwear in there. So,
you
> > wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing
> their
> > legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the
> stall
> > doors. Every one 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 new fangled "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 hang 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." Ahhhh, relief. More relief.
> >
> > But then your thighs 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" as your thighs experience a quake that would
> register
> > an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of 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 would have 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, and sliding down, directly onto the
> > insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, 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 ashamed of you if she knew, because
you're
> > certain that 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, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that
> > suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the
> toilet
> > paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point,
you
> > give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You
try
> to
> > wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, 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 a line of women, still waiting,
cross-legged
> > and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
> >
> > One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are
trailing
> a
> > piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River!
> > (Where was it 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 since entered, used and
exited
> the
> > men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.
> > Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse
hanging
> > around your neck?"
> >
> > This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to 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 woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under
the
> > door.