Post by Jen on Jul 25, 2007 22:37:07 GMT -5
>ISN'T THIS THE TRUTH
>you may need to stop at the women's restroom . . . be prepared!
>
>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 was 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. (Oh yeah, the purse around
>your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at
>the same time). 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
>and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks
>everything down with such force that 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 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 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 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 restrooms
>(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
>questions 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!
>
>
>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 AND, "THE GUYS SO THEY KNOW WHAT TAKES SO LONG".
>
>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!!!
>
>Share this with a friend!
>I Just Did!
>
>you may need to stop at the women's restroom . . . be prepared!
>
>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 was 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. (Oh yeah, the purse around
>your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at
>the same time). 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
>and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks
>everything down with such force that 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 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 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 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 restrooms
>(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
>questions 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!
>
>
>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 AND, "THE GUYS SO THEY KNOW WHAT TAKES SO LONG".
>
>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!!!
>
>Share this with a friend!
>I Just Did!
>