This is just too funny! So true!
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 was 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. (Oh yeah,
the purse 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 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 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 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 restrooms (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 questions 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!
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else
could describe it so accurately!
Trust
======
I know God will not give me anything that I can't handle.
I just wish He didn't trust me so much.
~Mother Theresa~