Why Women Travel In Groups

[liebe_angel]

I received this in my email. sound familiar to all the gals out there?

A woman will TRULY relate to this (and men will better
understand...!)
      My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a
little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me 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.

      By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home
to change my clothes. That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more
"mature years, The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain,
especially when one's bladder is full.

      When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a
line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on
Victoria's Secret underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely
at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling
politely.

      You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every
one 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 new fangled "seat covers" (invented by
someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse
on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully
but quickly hang 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."

      Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs 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" as your thighs
experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.

      To take your mind off of 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 would have
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, and sliding down, directly
onto the insidious toilet seat.

      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 ashamed of you if she
knew, because you're certain that 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, sending up a stream of water akin to a
fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you
grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to
China. At that point, you give up.

      You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try
to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, 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 a line of women, still waiting,
cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.

      One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are
trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the
Mississippi River! ( Where was it 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 since entered, used,
and exited the men's restroom, and read a copy of War and Peace while
waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is
your purse hanging around your neck?"

      This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to 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 woman can hold the door, hold your purse,
and hand you  Kleenex under the door.

[hades]

lol...

[foxx]

LMAO...Gigglepee!

Seriously?  Funniest True thing I have read in ages....Thanks Angel.

[ClingFree]

That was great! 

[Lynne]

Good one, so very true

[liebe_angel]

now you men out there understand now why we women all have to go to the bathroom together lol

[hades]

lol

[tponka]

I SWEAR this happened to me this weekend.. nearly all of the above, including the latch not working.. but to make it worse, I had just gotten off of an airplane in Tampa, where I was meeting my boyfriend for the weekend.  So I've just arrived in the Tampa airport, rushing to get to the nearest bathroom, one hand pulling my wheeled suitcase, and the other holding my super-sized, overstuffed LV purse up on my shoulder.  I can hardly fit myself, my luggage, and my purse in the stall, but shove everything in and hurry to cover the seat and relieve myself.  I am posed in "the stance," and just before finishing (and yes, I got the automatic splash before I'm quite done) the broken-latched door decides to creep open.  I hop up quickly to keep from revealing myself to the world, and in doing so, knock my head just by my eyebrow on the edge of the door.  Ouch!  I then gather my belongings and head to wash my hands, look in the mirror, and my face is dripping with blood.  Great.  I got a paper towel and held pressure to it and attempted to ask the bathroom attendant where the first aid station was.  Since she spoke no English (I suppose I should rant about that in Homer's topic too..), I was only able to distinguish the words "main terminal."  I headed to the train to the main terminal, and asked yet another airport employee to direct me to the first aid station.  Again, no English.  So now dragging my wheeled suitcase with the purse on the same arm with one hand and holding a bloody paper towel on my eye with the other, while my cell phone is ringing off the hook (boyfriend wondering where the hell I am.. of course I have no more hands to answer it).  I finally found the first aid station after two more empolyee inquiries.  The medics there, a man in his 40s and a kid barely out of high school, got a good snicker out of my story.  I was dressed in a very short, sexy sundress, nicely tanned, nails and toenails with a fresh French manicure/pedicure, and my long blonde hair flowing down my back.  I INSISTED that I was NOT a dumb blonde and explained to them that I was a college professor, which just egged them on more.  I told them to give me the damned ice pack and let me on my way, but not before I explained to them exactly how this whole situation was THEIR faults.  heh.  Then I went on to the rental car agency, where the attendants gave me strange looks, since I was then holding a huge ice pack to my face.  I almost thought they weren't going to give me a car.  I recovered, and had a good weekend on the beach, after all that.  Lesson learned:  none, when you gotta pee, you gotta pee.. live with the consequences.  ;)

[hades]

eek.  :-X

[Libra]

I SWEAR this happened to me this weekend.. nearly all of the above, including the latch not working.. but to make it worse, I had just gotten off of an airplane in Tampa, where I was meeting my boyfriend for the weekend.  So I've just arrived in the Tampa airport, rushing to get to the nearest bathroom, one hand pulling my wheeled suitcase, and the other holding my super-sized, overstuffed LV purse up on my shoulder.  I can hardly fit myself, my luggage, and my purse in the stall, but shove everything in and hurry to cover the seat and relieve myself.  I am posed in "the stance," and just before finishing (and yes, I got the automatic splash before I'm quite done) the broken-latched door decides to creep open.  I hop up quickly to keep from revealing myself to the world, and in doing so, knock my head just by my eyebrow on the edge of the door.  Ouch!  I then gather my belongings and head to wash my hands, look in the mirror, and my face is dripping with blood.  Great.  I got a paper towel and held pressure to it and attempted to ask the bathroom attendant where the first aid station was.  Since she spoke no English (I suppose I should rant about that in Homer's topic too..), I was only able to distinguish the words "main terminal."  I headed to the train to the main terminal, and asked yet another airport employee to direct me to the first aid station.  Again, no English.  So now dragging my wheeled suitcase with the purse on the same arm with one hand and holding a bloody paper towel on my eye with the other, while my cell phone is ringing off the hook (boyfriend wondering where the hell I am.. of course I have no more hands to answer it).  I finally found the first aid station after two more empolyee inquiries.  The medics there, a man in his 40s and a kid barely out of high school, got a good snicker out of my story.  I was dressed in a very short, sexy sundress, nicely tanned, nails and toenails with a fresh French manicure/pedicure, and my long blonde hair flowing down my back.  I INSISTED that I was NOT a dumb blonde and explained to them that I was a college professor, which just egged them on more.  I told them to give me the damned ice pack and let me on my way, but not before I explained to them exactly how this whole situation was THEIR faults.  heh.  Then I went on to the rental car agency, where the attendants gave me strange looks, since I was then holding a huge ice pack to my face.  I almost thought they weren't going to give me a car.  I recovered, and had a good weekend on the beach, after all that.  Lesson learned:  none, when you gotta pee, you gotta pee.. live with the consequences.  ;)

Someone's been reading too much Lauren Weisberger...  :))

Seriously, I'm a girly-girl and all, but I'm also a realist.  There are more deadly germs in your fridge than there are on a toilet seat. Public restrooms, especially at airports, are probably cleaner than your own. But if your anal, keep handy wipes in your purse, wipe the seat off, sit your ass down AND PEE!

Lib out.

[hades]

sanitized toilet seat covers are handy.  ;D

[Tara]

sanitized toilet seat covers are handy.  ;D

And I guess you think every friggen toilet in the world has them?  :-\

[hades]

lol you could always take your own with you.  :P

[Swámpßàby §]

Angel, I'm crying right now and my ribs are killing me from laughing so hard.  I snagged this and sent to all my girlfriends.  Thanks for posting it.

[liebe_angel]

Angel, I'm crying right now and my ribs are killing me from laughing so hard.  I snagged this and sent to all my girlfriends.  Thanks for posting it.

you're welcome please feel free to snag, It was sent to me in a e-mail lol just had to share

[hades]

lol.  :-X