Subject: Public Restrooms - Too Funny
>
> A woman will TRULY relate to this.........(and men will better
> understand...!)
>
> 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 in which you blew your nose. 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, 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, hold your purse
> and hand you Kleenex under the door. Irish
"Ladies Restroom"
Like today. 
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