Wednesday, August 11, 2010

The Ladies Room

A very pregnant friend asked for someone to explain to her why women take so long in the bathroom. I guess she got stuck waiting and was feeling surly about it. This is my response to her:

First, I have to figure out the best way to hover over the toilet without breaking my damn neck or falling into someone else's pee on the seat while avoiding the suspicious puddle on the floor. I also have to find a place to hold my purse as there are no hooks on the door and hanging it over the corner of the door causes the door to swing open and hit me on the head.
Then I pee, but it is also that time of the month so now I have to balance on one foot with my elbow braced on the wall and my back arched so I can replace my preferred feminine hygiene product without contaminating it on the gross toilet. The toilet paper roll runs out before I finish so I attempt to pat dry with the shredded remnants that clung to the roll.
Now I have to get my self out of the odd contorted position I've put myself in while I curse myself for not working on my core strength through weights or Pilates.
Off to the sink now only to discover there is no soap except a puddle on the counter. I debate for a moment and finally decide counter soap is better than no soap. Of course now the air dryer is broken and the paper dispenser is jammed. I spend a minute trying to jam my fingers up the towel slot without cutting them off on the ragged tearing surface.
By this point, I'm hot and sweaty and cranky so I mutter profanities under my breath as I pat my hands dry on my least obvious article of clothing. I linger in front of the mirror for a moment and wish there was something I could do about my now sweaty hair and upper lip. However there are still no towels so I heave a sigh and head out of the ladies room. I think to myself that I could sure use a drink after that, but I'll be damned if I do anything to induce another trip into the hell that is the public ladies restroom. As I come through the door I see you glaring at me and I think I should tell you there is no toilet paper, soap, or paper towel, but your glare clearly says, "get the hell out of my way!" So I smile and hold the door open for you.