For women only, OT

When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.


Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if
there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum
would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR) down with your
pants and assume ' The Stance.




In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay
toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to
hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have
to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller
than your thumbnail.


Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.


The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your bag 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, while losing your footing
altogether and sliding 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 against the
inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum
and runs down your legs and into your shoes.


The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto
the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this 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 sweet wrapper you
found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.


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 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 in 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your
bag hanging around your neck?




This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to
the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so
the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex
under the door.




This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.



lol Bev
--
--
The e-mail of the species is more deadly than the mail.

this made my day, if you only knew where i work, Lee
"ollie2" wrote in message
...
When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.


Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if
there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck,
(Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR) down with
your pants and assume ' The Stance.




In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to
lay toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have
to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would
have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still
smaller than your thumbnail.


Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.


The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your bag 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, while losing your footing
altogether and sliding 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
against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that
covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.


The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto
the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this 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 sweet wrapper you
found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.


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 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 in 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is
your bag hanging around your neck?




This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to
the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's
so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you
Kleenex under the door.




This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.



lol Bev
--
--
The e-mail of the species is more deadly than the mail.

My thoughts exactly. They don't even put out the seat covers because
someone always sticks them all in the stool and flushes it.
"Stormmee" wrote in message
...
this made my day, if you only knew where i work, Lee
"ollie2" wrote in message
...
When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.


Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if
there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck,
(Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR) down with
your pants and assume ' The Stance.




In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to
lay toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have
to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would
have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still
smaller than your thumbnail.


Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.


The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of
your chest and you and your bag 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, while losing
your footing altogether and sliding 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
against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that
covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.


The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto
the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this 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 sweet wrapper
you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.


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 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 in 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why
is your bag hanging around your neck?




This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains
to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's
so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you
Kleenex under the door.




This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.



lol Bev
--
--
The e-mail of the species is more deadly than the mail.

they remodeled a month before i started there, don't even have the seat
cover holders, Lee
"Granby" wrote in message
...
My thoughts exactly. They don't even put out the seat covers because
someone always sticks them all in the stool and flushes it.
"Stormmee" wrote in message
...
this made my day, if you only knew where i work, Lee
"ollie2" wrote in message
...
When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.


Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum,
no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook,
if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your
neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR) down
with your pants and assume ' The Stance.




In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to
lay toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now you
have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That
would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's
still smaller than your thumbnail.


Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.


The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of
your chest and you and your bag 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, while losing
your footing altogether and sliding 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
against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that
covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.


The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab
onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this 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 sweet wrapper
you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the
sinks.


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 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 in 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why
is your bag hanging around your neck?




This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains
to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's
so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you
Kleenex under the door.




This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.



lol Bev
--
--
The e-mail of the species is more deadly than the mail.

ollie2 wrote:
When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.


Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if
there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum
would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR) down with your
pants and assume ' The Stance.




In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay
toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to
hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have
to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller
than your thumbnail.


Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.


The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your bag 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, while losing your footing
altogether and sliding 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 against the
inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum
and runs down your legs and into your shoes.


The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto
the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this 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 sweet wrapper you
found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.


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 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 in 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your
bag hanging around your neck?




This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to
the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so
the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex
under the door.




This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.



lol Bev


Been there -- done that!

On Jun 7, 11:16*pm, MLB wrote:
ollie2 wrote:
When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if
there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum
would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR) down with your
pants and assume ' The Stance.

In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay
toilet paper on it, 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, 'Dear, 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 bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to
hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have
to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller
than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.

The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your bag 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, while losing your footing
altogether and sliding 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 against the
inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum
and runs down your legs and into your shoes.

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto
the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this 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 sweet wrapper you
found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

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 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 in 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 toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your
bag hanging around your neck?

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to
the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so
the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex
under the door.

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.

lol * Bev

Been there -- done that!- Hide quoted text -

- Show quoted text -

I got a chuckle out of this one, realizing that I'm not the only one
who was taught by her mother
to crouch over a public toilet. This is not easy when your legs are as
short as mine. Plus, the fine
art of flushing with the toe of your shoe requires some acrobatics
that I'm not sure how much longer
I can keep up with as I age. And not the least awkward of Public
Toilet 101 is taking the clean paper
towel from the dispenser to use to open the door with. Then what the
heck do you DO with that towel
when there's not a wastebasket on theOTHER side of the door.

Sherry

"ollie2" wrote in message

When you have to visit a public toilet, 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 cubicle doors. Every cubicle is
occupied.

*snip*

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally
explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers
that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets
in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag
and hand you Kleenex under the door.




This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately.

So very very true!

Yowie

--
If you're paddling upstream in a canoe and a wheel falls off, how many
pancakes can you fit in a doghouse? None, icecream doesn't have bones.

Sherry wrote:

I got a chuckle out of this one, realizing that I'm not the only one
who was taught by her mother
to crouch over a public toilet. This is not easy when your legs are as
short as mine. Plus, the fine
art of flushing with the toe of your shoe requires some acrobatics
that I'm not sure how much longer
I can keep up with as I age. And not the least awkward of Public
Toilet 101 is taking the clean paper
towel from the dispenser to use to open the door with. Then what the
heck do you DO with that towel
when there's not a wastebasket on theOTHER side of the door.

My mother wasn't too bad about stuff like this, but she did teach me
The Stance. The point is to avoid grossness, though, not germs. To get
technical about it, urine on the seat is most likely not carrying germs.
Urine is pretty much antiseptic. If a seat has spills on it, I crouch
because it's gross, not because I fear it's contagious.

That's funny about the towel to open the door. Your mom must be related
to Adrian Monk.

--
Joyce ^..^

To email me, remove the XXX from my user name.

Am 08.06.2009 schrieb ollie2:

When you have to visit a public toilet,...

Thank you so much for sharing this, Bev. You made my day:-)

Purrs to you
Inge and the catgang

--
CatManiacs World: http://www.gwsystems.com/inge

On Jun 7, 7:04*pm, "Stormmee" wrote:
they remodeled a month before i started there, don't even have the seat
cover holders,


I have only once seen toilet seat covers in the ladies-must have not
made it across the Atlantic!

Lesley

Slave of the Fabulous Furballs