- Joined
- Jun 25, 2001
- Messages
- 8,474
OK I got the scoop from this from
My friend Jane
ask your Lady if this is so...
Jane says
Ok... So I was brought up this way. Were you? Seeing how much I
travel and how often I am in public restrooms, I can REALLY relate! And
about those automatic flushing toilets, faucets and towel dispensers.....
give me the old fashioned ones any day. I've been sprayed, eweeeeeeeee,
spent hours waving my hands under faucets that don't turn on and spent
twice as long getting paper towels from that auto dispenser as it gives
you an inch of paper at a time!
For any of you squatters out there!
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 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 quickly, 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 in 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 and hand you Kleenex under the
door.
My friend Jane
ask your Lady if this is so...
Jane says
Ok... So I was brought up this way. Were you? Seeing how much I
travel and how often I am in public restrooms, I can REALLY relate! And
about those automatic flushing toilets, faucets and towel dispensers.....
give me the old fashioned ones any day. I've been sprayed, eweeeeeeeee,
spent hours waving my hands under faucets that don't turn on and spent
twice as long getting paper towels from that auto dispenser as it gives
you an inch of paper at a time!
For any of you squatters out there!
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 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 quickly, 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 in 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 and hand you Kleenex under the
door.