Deserving another posting

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Originally posted on February 9, 2013 by Shirley Anne

I was just reminded about this little story a friend sent me over three years ago when reading about another girl’s experiences visiting a toilet for handicapped people ( http://www.purpleslobinrecovery.wordpress.com/2016/12/14/evasive-eevans-events/ )…… Each time I read it I am in fits of laughter………I simply had to post it again……enjoy

English: photo of toilet seat

Photo credit: Wikipedia

Thank you Jakkie for this gem.

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 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 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 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 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 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 rest-room. 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
rest-room(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 rest-room in pairs.
It’s so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse
and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Another of life’s mysteries solved….

Thanks again Jakkie

Shirley Anne

 

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