Thursday, March 29, 2007
One For The Girls.....
"Why does it take you so long?" he says.
When you have to visit a public loo there is invariably a line of women, you
smile politely and take your place, it finally gets to your turn, you check
for feet under the cubicle doors. Every one is occupied..... but eventually
a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the
cubicle.
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" is handy, but empty. You would hang your handbag on a door
hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly
drape it around your neck, yank down your pants, and assume "The Position."
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 Position."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs for a moment when you reach for
horror or horrors an empty toilet paper dispenser. Your thighs start to
shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on
yesterday - the one that's still in your handbag which is now burning your
neck & shoulders with the weight. So you contort your arm into a very
unnatural position and start to fumble around in the deep dark depths of
your handbag for that small crumpled 'used' tissue no bigger than your
thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door and because the latch doesn't work it hits your
head which is bent over from holding the hanging handbag, and you start to
topple backward. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door and drop
the precious, tiny, crumpled tissue you had only just retrieved with your
index finger into an unknown puddle on the floor.......if that isn't enough
you lose your balance altogether and gravity pulls you down ...... 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 & life form
that lives on the uncovered seat. 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 into the bowl which sprays a fine mist of water that
covers your bum and runs down your legs along with the various life forms
and down into your dishevelled pants which have now dropped down to your
ankles. 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 yourself with a piece of gum wrapper you found in your
pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out
how to operate the faucet, so you run your hands underneath it grateful for
the 2 drops there, then around the basin itself. You go to the towel
dispenser past the line of women still waiting, where of course there are no
paper towels so you move over to the hand blower, which, yes you've guessed
it, also doesn't work.
You are no longer able to smile politely to the women, but there is an
unspoken understanding between you all. A kind soul at the very end of the
line points out that you have a piece of toilet paper trailing from your
shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your
shoe, plonk 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. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your handbag
hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public loo's. It also
finally explains to the men what really does take us so long and also
answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the loo in
pairs. It's so the other one can hold the door, hang onto your purse and
hand you Kleenex under the door!
Monday, March 26, 2007
It's Hell to Get Old
Agnes, 93, was despondent over the recent death of her husband Earl,
so she decided to just kill herself and join him in death.
Thinking it would be best to get it over with quickly, she took out
Earl's old Army pistol and made the decision to shoot herself in the
heart since it was so badly broken in the first place.
Not wanting to miss the vital organ and become a vegetable and a
burden to someone, she called her doctor's office to learn her heart's
exact location.
" Since you're a woman," the doctor said, "your heart is just below
your left breast. Why do you ask?"
She hung up without answering.
Later that night, Agnes was admitted to the hospital with a gunshot
wound to her knee.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Sorry
Underwired Bra
Friday, March 16, 2007
I'd Love To Be Eight Again
A man asked his wife what she'd like for her birthday." I'd love to be
eight again" she replied On the morning of her birthday he arose early,
made her a nice big bowl of Coco Pops and then took her off to the local
theme park.
What a Day!
He put her on every ride in the park:
* The Death Slide
* The Wall of Fear
* The Screaming Monster Roller Coaster
Five hours later she staggered out of the theme Park. Her head was
reeling and her stomach felt upside down.
Right away they journeyed to a McDonalds where her loving husband
ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a refreshing chocolate
milk shake.
Then it was off to the movies: the latest Star Wars epic, a hot dog,
popcorn, all the Coke she could drink, her favourite lolly and M& M's.
What a fabulous adventure!
Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed onto the bed
exhausted. He leaned over his precious wife with a big smile and
lovingly asked "Well Dear, what was it like being eight again?"
Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed.
"I meant my dress size, you f*ckin tw*t"
The moral of this story: Even when a man is Listening, he's still
going to get it wrong.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Paddy
An Irishman walks into a bar in Dublin, orders three pints of Guinness and
sits in the back of the room, drinking a sip out of each one in turn.
When he finished all three, he comes back to the bar and orders three more.
The bartender says to him, "You know, a pint goes flat after I draw it; it
would taste better if you bought one at a time." The Irishman replies,
"Well, you see, I have two brothers. One is in America, the other in
Australia, and I'm here in Dublin. When we all left home, we promised that
we'd drink this way to remember the days we all drank together."
The bartender admits that this is a nice custom, and leaves it there. The
Irishman becomes a regular in the bar and always drinks the same way: he
orders three pints and drinks the three pints by taking drinks from each of
them in turn.
One day, he comes in and orders two pints. All the other regulars in the
bar
notice and fall silent. When he comes back to the bar for the second round,
the bartender says, "I don't want to intrude on your grief, but I wanted to
offer my condolences on your great loss."
The Irishman looks confused for a moment, then light dawns in his eye and
he laughs. "Oh, no," he says, "My brothers are fine. It's me..."
"...I've quit drinking!"