raudi
One Last Time.......
My sister just emailed me this i had to share as i have been sat here crying with laughter for the past 10 minutes!!
If you have seen it before sorry....
When you have to visit a public lavatory, you usually find a queue 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 handbag 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 mom'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 handbag. 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 handbag, which is hanging around your neck in
front of your chest, and you and your handbag topple backward against the cistern 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 on
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 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 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 are 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.
Now, 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 queue 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 into 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 lavatories. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so
long, and why is your handbag hanging around your neck?" This is dedicated to women everywhere who have to deal with a
public lavatory. It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long.
It also answers their other commonly asked question aboutwhy women go to the loos in pairs. It's so the other girl can hold
the door, hang onto your handbag and hand you Kleenex under the door.
If you have seen it before sorry....
When you have to visit a public lavatory, you usually find a queue 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 handbag 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 mom'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 handbag. 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 handbag, which is hanging around your neck in
front of your chest, and you and your handbag topple backward against the cistern 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 on
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 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 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 are 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.
Now, 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 queue 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 into 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 lavatories. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so
long, and why is your handbag hanging around your neck?" This is dedicated to women everywhere who have to deal with a
public lavatory. It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long.
It also answers their other commonly asked question aboutwhy women go to the loos in pairs. It's so the other girl can hold
the door, hang onto your handbag and hand you Kleenex under the door.
