In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin
to shake. You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or
to lay toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear,
if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWNthere 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that
now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That
would have to do, so 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 bag, which is hanging around your neck in
front of your chest and you and your bag 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, while losing
your footing altogether and sliding 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'tKNOW 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 and spraying a fine mist of water that covers
your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.
The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and
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 sweet
wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the
sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the taps 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 youNEEDED 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and
why is your bag hanging around your neck?
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any
public rest rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally
explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that
other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's
so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex
under the door.
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe
it so accurately.
Send this to all women that need a good laugh.
A Friend Is Like A Good Bra...
Hard to Find
Supportive
Comfortable
Always Lifts You Up
Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging
And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!
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