Womens toilets...

[Guest guest]

> When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.

> Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman

> leaving the cubicle. 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 Mum,

> no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door

> hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around

> your neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the

> FLOOR!) down with your pants and assume ' The Stance.

> In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake.

> You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or

> to lay toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now

> you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time).

> That would have to do, so 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 bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of

> your chest and you and your bag 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, while losing

> your footing altogether and sliding 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 and spraying a fine mist of water

> that covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.

> The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and 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 sweet

> wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to

> the sinks.

> You can't figure out how to operate the taps 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and

> why is your bag hanging around your neck?

> This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest

> rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally

> explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers

> that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets

> in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag

> 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.

> 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!