Only a woman will TRULY relate to this (and husbands had better understand...)!

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 find 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 was 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. You're soaked by the
splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum
wrapper you found in your pocket, 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 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.