I'm a bit brain numb today. I've spent the whole day trying to come up with a subject for today's post. (That's not ALL I did, but it was on my mind while I did all that other stuff.)
Then, tonight, I stopped by Christine's Posh Wash Soap blog. She hasn't posted in a while (since June) but I took time to read through several pages of her varied posts. She made me laugh - a lot.
I laughed hysterically at this one. It made me think of a plaque I've seen that says "I laughed so hard, it ran down my legs." I hope Christine doesn't mind me reprinting it here. (I think she got it from a chain e-mail.)****Let me preface this with the fact that we visited our local casino on Friday night. It was the most crowded we've ever seen it as there were numerous promotions going on that night. Late that evening, I went to the bathroom then proceeded to walk across the casino to the doors leading outside where there is a generous amount of seating available. After chatting with some folks out there for about 45 minutes, The Big Guy came to get me as he was finally finished for the evening. I called goodbye to my new friends and strolled out on his arm (back into the main casino, that is.) A good ways across the casino, a woman ran up behind me and whispered in my ear, "You have toilet paper hanging out of your waistband." Yep, I had a trailing tail of TP about 15 inches long dangling down over the seat of my black slacks. Do you think anybody else noticed? (That was sarcasm, you know.)
**********Here is the post that cracked me up tonight:
"A good friend of mine sent this to me... every woman will understand this one. This explains that unanswered question men have of why women go to the bathroom in pairs or groups.
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 wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! 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 was 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. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door open 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 . 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 fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this 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 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 restrooms (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 questions 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."
Thanks for the smiles, Christine!
*****I hope she comes back to the blog world soon. I want more of this - lots and lots more!!