| Why it takes women so long to go to the loo |
| Monday, May 28, 2007 |
A friend just sent me this. Unsure who it was written by, but feel it's a story that needs to be told. Wink.
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 wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! 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 was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom or Grandma 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. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.
Then 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 your purse topple 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 against the inside of the bowl that sprays 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 in too. At this 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 to 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 in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this." As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms! It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions 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!Labels: practical advice for women |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:11 AM |
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| Two bummers on a very ditsy day |
| Thursday, May 24, 2007 |
I began this morning waking up to the supermarket delivery man knocking on my door. He was having trouble getting his trolley up our step so I went outside (in my pyjamas. Will I ever learn?) and as I bent down to help lift up the stuck wheel, managed to expose some significant beavage. I couldn't even recover from my embarrassment enough to inform him beavage was the new cleavage.
Then...
I have been cooking up a comment for the (previously unseen) gentleman who owns the brand-spanking-new Hummer that is parked regularly outside our office. First understand that these massive gas-guzzling vehicles are actually hard to get in Australia and need to be imported. So the comment I was going to inflict when I finally ran into him was "where did you get that environmental travesty? It should be called a BUMMER."
Only today I was outside getting on my bicycle next to the Hummer when he opened a door. Well he was rather handsome, so when he said "oh I nearly wiped you out there" with a smile, instead of my cutting comment I went (embarrassingly) "Yeah" (loudly) and followed it up with a horrible girly (also-loud) giggle.Labels: ditsy event of the day |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 4:35 PM |
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| Today's Lesson: Think before you gush |
| Saturday, May 19, 2007 |
Incredible news. A plumber came to my house today. I was so excited that after 10 plumber-no-shows I finally found someone who fronted ... and he was even early!
Only of course I went a bit overboard, as per usual, and gushed so much that I actually said "I can't believe you're here - in the flesh"
And he blushed. I sincerely hope it won't stop him from coming back. I think I might cry if he doesn't show up to do the job (particularly if it coincides with evil RED week).Labels: ditsy event of the day |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 11:40 AM |
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| The very hairy perils of getting older |
| Thursday, May 10, 2007 |
| I just can't emphasize how mortifying it is to set out to lunch with someone you are going to be sitting across from for two hours, close enough for them to see every pore, and even though you were feeling like you are having a good hair day/good outfit day, you come home to find that there is a very obvious thick black hair sticking out of your chin. (And I'm not talking a little hair hiding under my chin, no no, it was sticking straight out from the front) Labels: You know you are getting older when |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 2:13 PM |
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| No pyjamas guide to working at home |
| Monday, May 07, 2007 |
| Oh yes it seems like a good idea to work from home in my pyjamas all day, until two delivery men arrive unannounced, and a tradesman needs me to leave the house to use my key to let him into the communal garage. Oh yes, and I had wild sleep hair and sleep in my eyes too. Sheesh |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 8:59 AM |
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| Ditsy Event of the Day |
| Friday, May 04, 2007 |
So I am having a meeting with a man I don't know very well. I have a big slurp of tea while he is speaking, but the tea manages to partly miss my mouth, partly dribble out of mouth, onto my chin and clothing.
If only he hadn't noticed, but he did ... and subconsciously wiped his chin.Labels: ditsy event of the day |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:23 AM |
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| BLOOMIN PLUMBERS |
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It's been yonks since I bought a bath, but I am still unable to find a plumber to fit it. I've tried so hard to find one. The last one I spoke to sounded so promising.
I even said to him: "You know I've spoken to ten plumbers and they all promise to come round to look at the bath, and promise to ring, but they don't come round and they don't ring - in fact I never hear from them again"
He then launches into a big speech about how he's not like that and how good he/his company is ...
Then he didn't ring and he didn't come round. He's just disappeared into the plumber ether. |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:20 AM |
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| Ditsy Confession |
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It's been more than one month since my last confession of ditsiness
Say four I'm sorrys and write three posts in a row
If we are made in God's image, I wonder if He is a bit ditsy? |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:18 AM |
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