Post by AlsoAVirgo on Aug 15, 2006 18:33:13 GMT -5
I don't know if I'd classify this as a joke, but it sure is funny!
Does this sound a bit familiar?
> >
> >When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
> >women, so you smile politely and take your place and 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 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'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 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.
Does this sound a bit familiar?
> >
> >When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
> >women, so you smile politely and take your place and 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 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'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 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.