A fun read –(:

I did not write this blog, But, I can totally relate to it. It is as if this person wrote it about me. ( Hmmmmmm, was there a hidden camera in my bathroom stall?)

women in restroom story

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

wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! 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 –

the one that’s still in your purse. That would have to do. 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 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

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’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 against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water

that covers your butt an d runs down your legs and into your shoes.

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you

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 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 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 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