My friend, Mary, sent me this email. Women everywhere will identify. I did identify, but it brought back such memories of my rather unbelievable trip a couple of years ago to visit girlfriends, P and Kristin, up in NJ. Read on for my rendition of how it all went horribly wrong...
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!), then 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; then you lose your footing all together, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. 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!!).
If I were writing this, it would include all of this plus that tragic moment when the ultra sucking flush function starts the minute your car keys slip from your hand above the toilet, watching in slow motion as your keys fall directly into the toilet bowl, therefore sucking your keys away. It would include a loud scream of , "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and a thrusting of the full forearm into the afore mentioned ultra sucking flushing disgusting public toilet. Then, the realization of the fact that you're 90 miles from home, pregnant, and lacking the help of a husband (who happens to be in sunny CA) hits and you go rushing out of the stall commanding that no one uses that toilet. Then the real dread hits when you run out of the bathroom practically frantic at the lady working the snack and newspaper stand at the Maryland House rest stop trying to explain how you flushed your keys down the toilet, and then the look of extreme confusion and annoyance leaves her face and she actually calls the janitor, only for him to come into the stall with you and deliver the final blow that, "Maam, your keys are forever lost in the Maryland septic system. I hope you have a spare set." Then all the memories come flooding back of how your dad would find crafty and secret ways to hide a spare key under your car somewhere because he probably knew that you were somehow prone to things like this happening to you, but you realize that you aren't driving the car Mom and Dad got you anymore. You're driving the car you were so proud of to buy all by yourself, but you never hid a spare key secretly and craftily under the car. However, you were smart enough to not bring your coat into the Maryland House. Who needs that when you're just running in for a super quick pee because your pregnant belly keeps pushing on your bladder. Oh, by the way, it's also winter. Smart. Very smart. It's also an early weekend morning, and nothing is open. Hmmm, what does one do now??
If you're wondering if this story is true, YES, unfortunately every bit of it is true. If you ever want to hear the rest of the story, let me know. Since I'm here typing about it, I obviously survived!
Playing Peek-a-boo in the big blanket together
