Ain't this the truth???

Men, next time you are out with your wife or girlfriend, you may want to think twice about asking "What took you so long?" after she uses the restroom. You never know what the answer may be!

When you have to visit a public bathroom, generally, the first thing you encounter is a line of women who also had to visit the bathroom. You smile politely and take your place at the end of the line, trying not to make eye contact with anyone and hoping that you can hold "it" long enough without having to knock over everyone in front of you and dive for a stall. When it's finally your turn, you walk gingerly toward the toilets, discreetly checking for feet under the doors. Naturally, every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door begins to open and you make a run for it, nearly knocking down the woman trying to leave the stall. You turn to shut the door and find that it won't latch but you have to go so badly that it doesn't matter. The handy paper "seat cover" dispenser (invented by a germophobic mom, no doubt) is empty. And, you would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but, naturally, there isn't. So you carefully and quickly drape your purse around your neck (because you know your mom would die a thousand deaths if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."

As you "settle in" and try to concentrate on actually going, your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you didn't take the 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. As you make this discovery, you can clearly hear your mom's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs are about to give out on you. Suddenly, you remember the tiny tissue that you used to blow your nose yesterday--it's still in your purse. That will have to do. You dig it out from the bag dangling from your neck and attempt to rearrange it in the "puffiest" way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

At this point, another lady pushes open your stall door. (Remember that latch that didn't work??) The door hits your dangling purse, which slams into your heaving chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the toilet tank. "OCCUPIED!" you scream, as you reach for the door and your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue lands in a puddle on the floor. Then you lose your footing altogether and slide down directly on to the toilet seat, which is wet, of course.

You bolt straight up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and disgusting life form on the uncovered seat because you never laid down toilet paper. Not that there was any, even if you had wanted to lay some down. You know your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you're certain HER bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat. Her voice is once again resounding in your head "You know, dear, you just have NO idea what kind of diseases you can get from a public toilet seat."

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 that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this point, you give up. You're soaked from the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted.

You wipe as best you can with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then try to slink inconspicuously to the sinks. Now you can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors and the soap dispensers are empty, so you wipe your hands with spit and promptly look like an idiot waving your hand in front of the dot on the towel dispenser. You walk past the line of women still waiting. You can't even smile politely.

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??) Angrily, you yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it into the woman's hand, and say "Here, you just might need this." As you exit, you spot your dear husband, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why the heck is your purse hanging around your neck?"

Now, all you insensitive men know why women go to the restroom in pairs: so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse, and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Author Unknown