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 Victoria's Secret
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, 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.
