Public Restroom

Receive this from my aunt, so funny...if you wonder what is "The Stance" position, it's some sort like Chinese Kung Fu where you 'chatt ma' (cantonese) - watch Jackie Chan's old movies ? He always kena punished in that position, with few Joss sticks under / in btwn his legs....yep....guys are so lucky to be able to pee standing and no need tissues.

Have fun reading. Cheers.


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 "more mature"
years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain. When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually
find a line of waiting 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 desparately, nearly
knocking down the poor woman leaving the stall. You
get in to find the door won't latch, but at this point, it
doesn't matter. The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented
by someone's mother, no doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there
(door hooks all been unscrewed and stolen by ‘you know who’)
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 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 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.