I got this in an email this morning and wanted to share it with all my fellow mommys!

To All My Lady Friends Who've "Been There, Done That" and to all my men friends
so they'll know why we do what we do.

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 "mature" years, "THE STANCE" is
excruciatingly difficult to maintain.

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you
smile politely and take you place in line. 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 in 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 you 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 had 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 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'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 at 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 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 to the restroom in pairs.

It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand your Kleenex under the door.

__________________
Alicia

Mommy to Aidan 10-21-05 and Rori 7-3-07

:D

__________________
Does Money Matter?

Omg! That Was Absolutely Hilarious. I Haven't Laughed That Hard In A Very Long Time. Thanks For Posting It. :d

Isn't that the truth! Yuck!