My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little
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>girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet
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>paper and wipe the seat. Then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet
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>paper to cover the seat.
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>Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.
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>Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing
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>over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any
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>of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
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>That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance"
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>is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.
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>When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
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>women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your
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>turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is
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>occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking
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>down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't
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>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
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>hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't
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> - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom
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>would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank
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>down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
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>In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.
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>You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe
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>The seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
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>To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
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>discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you
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>can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to
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>clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"
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>Your thighs shake more.
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>You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday -
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>the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You
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>crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than
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>your thumbnail.
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>Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work.
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>The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front
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>of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the
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>tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the
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>door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on
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>the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly
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>onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.
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>You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare
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>bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on
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>the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not
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>that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
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>You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
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>because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public
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>toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind
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>of diseases you could get."
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>By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
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>confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a
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>fire hose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that
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>you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged
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>in too. At that point, you give up.
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>You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're
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>exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your
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>pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't
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>figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors,
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>so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk
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>past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to
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>smile politely them.
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>A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of
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>toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you
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>NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the
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>woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
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>As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered,
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>used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks,
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>"What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your
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>neck?"
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>This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public
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>restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains
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>to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their
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>other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in
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>pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse
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>and hand you Kleenex under the door. --
2006-09-10
04:06:01
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18 answers
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asked by
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Etiquette