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by hodie on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
You go 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 some 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 drape it around your neck (mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the floor!). You pull 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 didn’t take 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 an 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.
by hodie on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
You remember suddenly that tiny tissue you used to blow your nose yesterday – the one still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck that now you have to hold up so as to not strangle yourself at the same time). This tissue will 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 the purse topple backwards 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. You 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 horrible 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 the time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you are certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat. All the while you hear her voice explaining “Frankly, dear, you just don’t know what kind of diseases you could get”.
by hodie on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused by movement that it flushes. It propels a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl, spraying 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 into the toilet bowl as well.
At this point, you give up. You’re now soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You are 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 who are waiting in line.
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 this when you needed it?) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman’s hand and warmly tell her, “Here, you just might need this”.
by hodie on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public restrooms. (REST??? You’ve got to be kidding!). It finally explains to 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 gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse, and hand you Kleenex under the door!
by hodie on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
by RONNIERUNCO on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
http://ihos.com/steakhouse.html
by GSDtravels on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
by GSDtravels on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
HAIR REMOVAL 101
All hair removal methods have tricked us with their promises of easy, painless removal - the Epi-lady, scissors,
razors, Nair and now THE WAX! My night began as any other normal weekday night. Come home, fix dinner and
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours. Maybe I
should pull the wax out of the medicine cabinet. So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of
those cold wax kits, no melting a clump of hot wax, just rub the strips together in your hand to get the wax
warm and then pull them apart, press it to your leg (or wherever else) and hair comes right off. No muss, no fuss.
How hard can it be? I mean, I'm no girly girl, I'm mechanically inclined enough that I can figure it out - ya think?!
So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together,
I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. Cold wax, my rear-end! (Oh, how this phrase haunts me!)
I lay the strip across my thigh, hold the skin around it tight and pull. Okay, so it wasn¹t the best feeling, but it wasn't
too bad. I am She-ra, fighter of all wayward body hair and smooth skin extrordinaire!
With my next strip, I move north. After checking on the kids I sneak back into the bathroom for the ultimate hair
fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure I apply the wax
strip across the right side of bikini line, covering the right front half and stretching down to the inside of my
butt cheek. (Yes, it was a long strip!) I inhale deeply and brace myself. RRRIIIPPP!!!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!! OH MY GOSH !!!!!!!
Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half of the strip! CRAP! Another deep breath and RRIIPP.
Everything is swirling and spotted. Do I hear crashing drums? Ok, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax
covered strip with my hairy pelt, that has caused me so much pain, sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is
my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it!
Where is the hair? WHERE IS THE WAX?? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the
hair, the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. Crap! I run my fingers over the most sensitive
part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then, I make the next BIG mistake. remember, my foot is still propped up on the toilet. I know I need to do
something. So I put my foot down.
NOOOOOOO! I hear the slamming of the cell door --- vagina... sealed shut!
Butt? Sealed shut! I penguin-walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself, PLEASE
don't let me get the urge to poop! My head may pop off!
Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax
covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???
***WRONG***!!!
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment -
and I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether businesses glued together is having them glued together
and then glued to the bottom of the tub in scalding water!
(which, by the way, doesn¹t melt cold wax!) So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub.
by GSDtravels on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
she¹s waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It¹s a very good conversation starter, so, my
butt and who-ha are stuck to the bottom of the tub! There is a slight pause. She doesn¹t have a secret trick but
does try to hide the laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located on bottom, i.e., Are we
talking cheeks or hole or what? She's laughing out loud by now. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the
number on the side of the box. YEAH!!! RIGHT!!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions, I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than t have
your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry shaving the sticky
wax off! By now, the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I slip into glazed donut land. My friend
is still talking with me and my hand reaches toward the saving grace, the lotion they give you to remove the excess
wax. What do I have to lose at this point?
I rub some on and OH MY GOSH !!! The scream probably woke the kids, scared the dickens out of my friend, but I
really don't care. IT WORKS! IT WORKS!!!
I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and
then notice to my grief and despair the hair is still there!!! ALL OF IT!!!!!
So I shaved it off. Heck, I'm numb at this point.
Next week, I'm going to try hair color.
by Red Sable on 21 February 2010 - 23:02
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