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    My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a
    little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how 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.



    That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The
    Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.



    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 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 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 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
    firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you
    grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
    At that 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 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.
    SHEL

  • #2
    Love this---and every bit of it is true!!

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