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.

chei!! feelgood u sef

yea i agree

PERFECTLY RIGHT, NORMALLY CORRECT, TOO CORRECT sef. lol

made me laugh and i see some truth in it.

Mukina u don come again? wetin u dey do here? FOR MEN ONLY!!!

aba feelgood ar go go husai ar wan go,

nA U SABI Mukina - anyway have fun & be cool (after all, hot angel also 'strayed' in)

feel good are you feelin good?

Mukina,mukinatu,mukinabe, - JUST FEEL GOOD

Really good rea! But mind i still have to brush my hair, retouch my pancake and spray some perfumn. Damn how much time did that take.

Nice one man

@ ib

i guess your boy tells your 5 hours before time dat u guys will go out for dinner. if he tells u one hour before time u might end up completing only your eye lashes or whateva una dey call 'em.

Haba,

very very true, lmao

That article got me really laughing. I used to wonder what caused all this toilet camaraderie among women. I now see. But, by the way, everything women do just ends up in all kinds of complications; toilet and make-up are just two of them.