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 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 firehose
> 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'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
> 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