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Potty

This essay is not my matierial, it is from and email forward, but I know all women can relate. Please read my notes at bottom and add your own comments, because we all have a story.
Bathroom Moment - for women everywhere and the men who love them.

My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how 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.
That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain. 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 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 were 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. 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 topples 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 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 that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that 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 at 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 the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

Personal notes:

Why is there about an inch of space on each side of the door, admit it, as you walk by the stalls you get a glimpsesof some poor soul, skirt hiked up or pants scrunched down vulnerably sitting/sqwatting on the toilet...also, small children like to look throught these slats of space. I have a lot of problems with people watching me on the toilet. Men mush have engineered these public restroom doors.

Also, I have never quite mastered the flexing of thighs and buttocks while relaxing the other numerous muscles it takes to release one's waste. I am a fan of the seat covers and most often a sitter, if the seat is disgusting, I try the squat, but hate every second, and I swear all the pee does not come out. TMI?, too bad :)

my new foster babies

Two baby boys:

watching paint dry

My life has slowed down A LOT! I don't have to go back to work until August, and I love that...but I am bored. I am back from Hawaii, miss it terribly and scared of my credit card bill. I hang out with my blind dog and my other dog all day while being suzy-homemaker. I am actually working summer school for half days and that is keeping me sane, but it will end in about 10 days. Therefore I have little to blog about. My apologies....I must create some adventure for the sake of blogging.

Paradise

So here I am, paradise. It is everything they say it is. Let's start with the flight...we got killer emergency row seats with like 5 feet of leg room, no exaggeration. The husband was happy as a clam. We watched "Rumour Has It" with killed some time and aside from the child kicking my seat for half of the flight, it was okay. Then we spent a day in Honlolulu. I took an impromtu dip in the ocean, it was fabulous.

Now we are in Kona, we had another beach day, some Thai food and a Luau tonight! I am weird on vacation, I get stressed as the end nears. I woke this morning thinking "Yikes, only 6 days left!". I am going to try hard to post a new picture, but I haven't had much luck yet.

My husband and I realize we are old...or just boring. We go to bed for nine o'clock. The rest of the tourists are partying....they stumble up and down the side walks, screaming and yelling, I get irritates, Larry just laughs. We are old, and I am okay with it :)

anaconda

It is amazing what you can encounter while gardening; I take pride in my garden and am slowly trying to relandscape my front yard. I had two trees to plant today. I put on my grubbies and a goofy sunhat and got to work. School is out by the way, so the neighborhood kids were happily practicing skateboarding tricks on mini-ramps. Somewhere they found a small boombox and out it came. For a while the local teenager radio station was on, mildy interesting. I could feel that these 11 year olds' feeling of coolness just jumped a nitch or two. Then out come some really weird mix CD, must be from a parent...cuz it just took me back. First song I noticed was "It wasn't me" by shaggy...now were these boys even alive when this song was made? But each rep of "it was't me" they looked at the ground and shook their little heads and said that line. They felt the meaning deep in their hearts as over and over they would strut and shake their heads. I chuckled to myself and keep digging. It gets better....next song....Baby Got Back by Sir Mix Alot. They knew all of the words and felt those in their hearts too. I began to feel self conscious my bottom was bent over and in full view but I secretly wanted to go over and shake my butt at them like they do in the video just to freak them out (my butt is famous by the way, more on that later)...I simply continue to mulch. Then comes the anaconda line...remember its "My anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns hun"...They all sing this line and then one boy asks "what's an anaconda"....HAHAHAHA...too funny, this whole scene is so entertaining. They move through the CD, I hear Brown Eyed Girl, I get excited, they keep moving and finally for the grand finale: Cherry Pie by Warrent, my world zooms back to grade 8 at Canadian Martyrs. What a trip. I am desperatly curious as to how they got a hold of this music AND why they like it.

I feel queezy

the opposite of a compliment



I was walking into Sams...there was a car idling in the fire lane outside the entrance. I recognized the guy in the car...he goes to my church. He is in his forties I think and gives me the creeps, no good reason, just women's intuition. He waved for me to come over, I think he needs directions...or maybe he recognizes me. So I go to his car and he says "Oh, I was just waving for you to cross"

"Okay" I say and begin to walk.

"Nice to meet you, have a nice day" he says. I smile and nod. I feel dumb...but realize he totally did not do the "cross the street" wave, it was a "come here, I need directions" wave, he clearly does not know wave etiquette....

I move on, a little creeped out. As I view the jute rugs I have been eyeing for weeks, I get a tap on the shoulder. It is him. He says "my name is __________. What is yours?" I tell him. He says "Well I wanted to introduce myself, it is nice to see a friendly face" He is shaking my hand the whole time. He makes a very indiscreet glance at my left ring finger...which has my wedding ring. It is not traditional, but correct finger which means I have a big burly husband. "Are you a student?" he asks, "Nope, I am all grown up" I say, not wanting to volunteer any extra information." He looks at my ring again. "Are you married?" "Yes" I reply. "Well, nice meeting you" and he walks off. I totally had the willies. I feel guilty for having the willies, but he was totally creepy, and he is OLD. There is sexy old and gross old. Maybe if he had been, oh, let's say George Clooney, I would have over looked the age difference. And he thought I was a student, extra creepy. What if I was not married, would he have asked me to dinner? Gross.

Why couldn't cute young guys ask me if I am married?