Ridecamp: [RC] Porta-potties on trail rides

OK, folks
So this is really stretching to relate it to ridecamp--- BUT if you
substitute out-houses on the trail for public toilets and riding three 
hours instead of watching a movie--- it really fits :-)
I laughed so hard out loud when I read this that I wanted to share! 
Enjoy! And it's pretty PG
Bette

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 God'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 a dry 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.


--
Bette Lamore
Whispering Oaks Arabians
Home of 16.2h TLA Halynov
who lives on through his legacy
Hal's Riverdance!
http://www.arabiansporthorse.com


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ridecamp is a service of Endurance Net, http://www.endurance.net.
Information, Policy, Disclaimer: http://www.endurance.net/Ridecamp
Subscribe/Unsubscribe http://www.endurance.net/ridecamp/logon.asp
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=