(no subject)
>"The Real Restroom Story"
>
>Only a woman will TRULY relate to the following, but it's a "hoot" for all!
>
>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 Nelly's 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.
>
>Only a woman will TRULY relate to the following, but it's a "hoot" for all!
>
>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 Nelly's 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.