he he he....... speaking of toilet paper.......... LOL <BR> <BR>FINALLY AN EXCUSE!! <BR> <BR>This is to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with <BR>a public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what takes us so <BR>long. <BR> <BR>My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she´d <BR>bring me in the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the <BR>seat. Then, she´d carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the <BR>seat. Finally, she´d instruct, "Never, never sit on a public toilet <BR>seat." And she´d demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing <BR>over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of <BR>your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. But by this time, I´d have <BR>peed down my leg. And we´d go home. <BR>That was a long time ago. I´ve had lots of experience with public <BR>toilets since then, but I´m still not particularly fond of public <BR>toilets, especially those with powerful, red-eye sensors. Those toilets <BR>know when you want them to flush. They are psychic toilets. But I always <BR>confuse their psychic ability by following my mother´s advice and <BR>assuming The Stance. The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain <BR>when one´s bladder is especially full. This is most likely to occur <BR>after watching a full-length feature film. <BR>During the movie pee, it is nearly impossible to hold The Stance. You <BR>know what I mean. You drink a two liter cup of Diet Coke, then sit still <BR>through a three-hour saga because, for God´s sake, even if you didn´t <BR>wipe or wash your hands in the bathroom, you´d still miss the pivotal <BR>part of the movie or the second scene, in which they flash the leading <BR>man´s naked derriere. So, you cross your legs and you hold it. And you <BR>hold it until that first credit rolls and you sprint to the bathroom, <BR>about ready to explode all over your internal organs. And at the <BR>bathroom you find a line of women that makes you think there´s a <BR>half-price sale on Mel Gibson´s underwear in there. <BR>So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing <BR>their legs and smiling politely. And you finally get closer. You check <BR>for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. You hope no one <BR>is doing frivolous things behind those stall doors, like blowing her <BR>nose or checking the contents of her wallet. Finally, a stall door opens <BR>and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get <BR>in to find the door won´t latch. It doesn´t matter. You hang your <BR>handbag on the door hook, yank down your pants and assume The Stance. <BR>Relief. More relief. Then your thighs begin to shake. You´d love to sit <BR>down but you certainly hadn´t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet <BR>paper on it, so you hold The Stance as your thighs experience a quake <BR>that would register an eight on the Richter scale. <BR>To take your mind off it, you reach for the toilet paper. Might as well <BR>be ready when you are done. The toilet paper dispenser is empty. Your <BR>thighs shake more. You remember the tiny napkin you wiped your fingers <BR>on after eating buttered popcorn. It would have to do. You crumble it in <BR>the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. <BR>Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn´t work and <BR>your pocketbook whams you in the head. "Occupied!" you scream and you <BR>reach out for the door, dropping your buttered popcorn napkin in a <BR>puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat. You get up <BR>quickly, but it´s too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with all <BR>the germs and life forms on the bare seat because YOU never laid down <BR>toilet paper, not that there was any, even if you had enough time to. <BR>And your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because her <BR>bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, "You <BR>don´t know what kind of diseases you could get." <BR>And by this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so <BR>confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a <BR>fountain and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that <BR>you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to <BR>China. At that point, you give up. You´re finished peeing. You´re soaked <BR>by the splashing water. You´re exhausted. You try to wipe with a <BR>Chicklet wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out <BR>inconspicuously to the sinks. <BR>You can´t figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic <BR>sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk <BR>past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile <BR>politely at this point. One kind soul at the very end of the line points <BR>out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long <BR>as the Mississippi River. You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in <BR>the woman´s hand and say warmly, "Here. You might need this." <BR>At this time, you see your spouse, who has entered, used and exited his <BR>bathroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. "What <BR>took you so long?" he asks, annoyed. This is when you kick him sharply <BR>in the shin and go home......... <BR>LOL LOL so you men out there better come in one hand a single rose and the other he hee sangria <BR> <BR>