Tuesday, March 2, 2010

When you don't have a square to spare...

I got this email today and I just had to share.

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

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, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around
your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the

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 purse (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, 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 purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the

'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

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 bottom 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

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 candy
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, plonk 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 purse 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 girl can hold the door, hang
onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Anyone relate?