The Ladies Restroom

I saw this on a chat board I'm on and it spoke to me. I wanted to share it here. This is not my work, but it is dang funny.

Ladies Restroom Visit

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 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.

Gonna Make You Sweat

Yeah, I guess I'm stealing from C&C Music Factory (I think...?) with that title. It all starts with Rob picking out a sexy new elliptical Machine for our Christmas money to be spent on. Now, to be honest, I was a bit ho-hum about the purchase at first. I was completely awed by his urge to get exercised and all... but I was like drooling at the idea of a fattening dinner out or more "stuff" to add to all my other "stuff". However, if someone in my family has a hankering for getting fit, I support, dude. I even decided to jump on the bandwagon. Or... err... Elliptical. Here's where things get interesting: I.... LIKE IT! Really, honestly, truly. It makes me feel pumped. I head downstairs for my "me" time, crank up the Rage Against the Machine and let the drops of sweat fly! So, here I have finished my allotted time to become beet-red-in-the-face and sweat, and I even have enough finger strength to bang out this blog! Ok, it's a weak blog, I admit, but it's an update for all you blog-hungry fans. All two of you. Consider yourself fed. I'm gonna go pass out in the shower now.

Whoa, It's Winter

We live in New England. It's supposed to snow here. I gave up around the holidays, and resigned myself to the fact that we were going to have a brown Christmas. Recently we paid a visit to an old friend about an hour's drive from here. She had about an inch of snow on the ground. You'd think Santa himself was camped out in her back yard. The boys were salivating looking at it, and the second their seat belts were unlatched, they plunged their pudgy paws into the ice cold fluff. The excitement was pulsing around them. When Max got bored with the female chit chat and the toddlers "mine, mine" banter, he excused himself outside to throw snowballs at the house. Snow is late in coming this year. It's gone beyond "oh well" to "what the hell??". Finally, we got a dusting though. Yesterday we woke up to a few inches and I managed to get the boys out of their jammies and into clothes and socks and snowpants and hats and gloves and boots before they rushed out the door. We managed to get several runs down the hill in their sleds before Miles received several flesh wounds to the face and my toes were cold. It's the end of January and we are just now tasting this sweet sweet snow. For the love of God, what does it take to get a Nor'easter in Massachusetts??? And for those of you who gasp and say, "Don't jinx us!!"... well... JINX JINX JINX, I want snow!

Whoops-A-Daisy

Well, we begin the long process of potty training. Yes, what you see there is absolutely a little poop. I figure, better on the floor in front of the toilet than on the living room carpet, eh? It's close enough to the target. On his second try for the night, you will be happy to hear that Miley did, in fact, make the target and received much applause and hooting. There was much rejoicing. What can I say, poop makes me laugh.

Hey! I'm Alive!

Well bloggies, I am indeed alive and well. Although, "well" is a relative term, I have a chest cold that keeps me awake at night and is thoroughly irritating to me. I had experienced some technical difficulties with the old blog and thought the whole thing was lost. But, thanks to my dear friend Danish (love the name, makes me hungry) at Blogger Help, problem is resolved, blogging has resumed. Fear not, for there will indeed be more blogs!

So, tuck your tissues back up your sleeves, I have returned and vow to be blogtastic!