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Got a good reason For taking the easy way out


PLEASE...knock before entering.

When you gotta go....you gotta go!!!

[it's a bit blurrred, 'cause I was rushing to get this photo onto the cellphone before Winston left the litter box...I don't think he was finished with his business, but Tahoe barged in. No privacy whatsoever. And yes, there ARE two litter boxes in our home, but both always prefer to use this one for some reason.]




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WEEKEND FUNNIES
[This was sent to me via an email, so I really don't know just who to credit....but it's worth a share, if you ask me.] Perhaps you've read it before. Laughing is the best medicine, but this is some serious sh!t here....

Speaking of When you gotta go, you gotta go----------




When you have to visit a public “Restroom”, 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 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 not toilet paper!’ Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday – the one that’s till 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 till 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 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 fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your bottom 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 off 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!’

12 comments :

  1. First of all, it took me a while to realise the white ball of fur is a second cat. Hehe. I thought the black cat was rubbing itself on a white brush/mop, haha, until I read your description.

    Then I read the story/joke. It was a bit long and I was about to give up half way. It is worth the read. I really LOL at the punch line. "Why is your neck hanging on your neck!" That just cracked me up.

    Your new blog pal,
    Sankissjuice

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  2. I needed these laughs, thanks.

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  3. Love the photo of your cats and how you paired it with this very funny story. I am still chuckling. Thanks Anni.

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  4. Poor Winston - rough life! Speaking of rough, women do have the worst end of it when it comes to public bathrooms.

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  5. Kittens are wonderful. I am greeting

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  6. What a funny post, poor kitty having to share. Visiting the women's bathroom can be an awful experience, LOL! Have a great weekend, Anni!

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  7. I try to avoid the public restrooms whenever possible! Funny story...and loved the shot of the cats...they really don't care if someone is in their way!

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  8. Oh my goodness that happened to me once at Macy's and some kind employee told me!

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  9. Love this! Oh, yes, we have all be there!

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  10. I was laughing enough at the two cats in the litter box but then when I read the joke I was dieing. I've read it before but it's one of those things that no matter how many times you read it you can't help laughing. Possibly because you've been in the exact same situation before.

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  11. Annie....I have a question for you. I kept journals for years and years but 10 years ago burned them because they were so many and they were filled with life's disappointments and things that had happened to me that influenced my adult life, They were filled withm worry and concern for my children. I decided they were too depressing even tho I wanted them to now their REAL mother, that I destroyed them. Now that my memory is failing wee bit by wee bit, I wish I had them back so I could read them and jog my memory. I adore the way you put your words and feelings on paper and in general avoiding the personal and focusing on life in this 21st century. Any suggestions on how to start this. I do not want to get into ongoing discussions back and forth with people who do not look at life as I do....I just want to speak my mind in a comical and entertaining but "meaty" manner like you do. I need you for my personal tutor.I am so afraid to speak my piece for fear I will offend someone or overstep my limid.. Even with work, my deteriorating scholiosis leaves me ged ridden at least a day a week and sometimes even more...what a perfect time for writing. I've been a writer all my life-I love writing-I love teaching children how to honesty and creatively put their thoughts on paper, but I have a hard time doing it if it is not in the form of a private journal. Now, I am having trouble keeping up with all the commenting during the week because of school and when I get home I am so tired. I try had to catch up on the weekends. In closing let me tell ou your shot this week cracked me up. I have to say that around here when all the children are back for visits. Happy Sunday, Gal. genie

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