Sånn er det bare

[Cyberpus]

My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she'd

bring me in the stall, teach me 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." And 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. But by

this time, I'd have peed down my leg. And we'd go home.

That was a long time ago. I've had lots of experience with public

toilets since then, but I'm still not particularly fond of public

toilets, especially those with powerful, red-eye sensors. Those

toilets know when you want them to flush. They are psychic toilets,

but I always confuse their psychic ability by following my mother's

advice and assuming The Stance. The Stance is excruciatingly

difficult

to maintain when one's bladder is especially full. This is most likely

to occur after watching a full-length feature film. During the movie

pee, it is nearly impossible to hold The Stance. You know what I

mean. You drink a two liter cup of Diet Coke, then sit still through a

three-hour saga because, for heaven's sake, even if you didn't wipe

or

wash your hands in the bathroom, you'd still miss the pivotal part of

the movie or the second scene, in which they flash the leading

man's

naked derriere. So, you cross your legs and you hold it. And you

hold

it until that first credit rolls and you sprint to the bathroom, about

ready to explode all over your internal organs. And at the bathroom,

you find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price

sale on Mel Gibson's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile

politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling

politely. And you finally get closer. You check for feet under the

stall doors. Every one is occupied. You hope no one is doing

frivolous

things behind those stall doors, like blowing her nose or checking

the

contents of her wallet.

Finally, a stall door opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the

woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It

doesn't matter. You hang your handbag on the door hook, yank

down your

pants and assume ..... The Stance. Relief. More relief. Then your

thighs 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 as your thighs experience a quake that would register an

eight

on the Richter scale. To take your mind off it, you reach for the

toilet paper. Might as well be ready when you are done. The toilet

paper dispenser is empty. Your thighs shake more. You remember

the

tiny napkin you wiped your fingers on after eating buttered popcorn.

It would have to do. You crumble 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 and your pocketbook whams

you in

the head. "Occupied!" you scream as you reach out for the door,

dropping your buttered popcorn napkin in a puddle and falling

backward, directly onto the toilet seat. You get up quickly, but it's

too late Your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and

life

forms on the bare seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper,

not

that there was any, even if you had enough time to. And your

mother

would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because her bare

bottom

never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, "You don't know

what kind of diseases you could get." And by this time, the

automatic

sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes,

sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain and then it suddenly

sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet

paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China. At that point,

you

give up. You're finished peeing. You're soaked by the splashing

water.

You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a Chicklet wrapper you

found in

your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't

figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so

you

wipe your hands with spit and wipe with a paper towel and walk past

a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile

politely at this point. One kind soul at the very end of the line

points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe

as long! as the Mississippi River. You yank the paper from your shoe,

plunk it in the woman's hand and say warmly, "Here. You might need

this." At this time, you see your spouse, who has entered, used, and

exited his bathroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for

you. "What took you so long?" he asks, annoyed. This is when

you kick

him sharply in the shin and go home.

This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to

deal

with a public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what

takes us so long.

[Gjest lis@bet]

...oookay, har du kortversjonen?

[Ruskelusk]

...oookay, har du kortversjonen?

Ehhh hva stod det der,sånn egentlig??

[Gjest lis@bet]

Ehhh hva stod det der,sånn egentlig??

Spør du meg?? )

[Ruskelusk]

Spør du meg?? )

Nei,egentlig ikke.Det var vel heller til han cyberfyren lengre opp.Har noe å lære her skjønner jeg.