Stang Girl
Explorer Addict
- Joined
- July 11, 2005
- Messages
- 1,295
- Reaction score
- 15
- City, State
- Bastrop, TX
- Year, Model & Trim Level
- '04 Cobra R Clone
When you have to visit a public restroom, 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 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 !
> > 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 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 !
