For women only :>)

This is hilarious-you and oh too true.
> > >
> > > My mother 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
> >make
> > > 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 ââ'¬"
> >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 pa per - 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 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.
> > >