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One for the ladies!!!!!!

Discussion in 'Comedy' started by rico, Jul 12, 2006.

  1. My grandmother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a

    little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how 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 makes contact with the toilet seat. That was a long time

    ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly

    difficult to maintain.

    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 grandmother 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 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 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.