A friend passed this on and it is so true for women of my generation, that I have to put it here.
>The Real Restroom Story>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 fin d a line of women that makes you think there's a>half-price sale on Nelly's 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 were 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 quickly; 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-because you are soaked by>the splashing water. 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 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 in>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 and hand>you Kleenex under the door.>>>>
