04 abril 2009

DESCOBERTO O MISTÉRIO !

porque é que as mulheres vão ao WC a pares

A minha amiga Vanda ao regressar da sua viagem de férias à Escócia,
em Abril 2008, trouxe-nos, ao núcleo duro de amigas,
um texto duma revista feminina escocesa que está o máximo!!
Ora leiam... é a pura verdade.
E um grande azar quando acontece a alguém :-S

(este artigo foi publicado no blog nessa altura, estou apenas a dar-lhe um refresh)


"Ladies, we've all been there!


When you have to visit a public loo, there's invariably a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. When 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.

You get in, to find the door, won't lock!


It doesn't matter - the wait has been so long you're 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 ageing, 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 loo paper on it, so you hold The Position. To take your mind off your trembling thighs for a moment you reach for - horror of horrors - an empty loo paper dispenser.
Your thighs start to shake more!

You remember the tiny tissue you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your handbag, which is now burning your neck and 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... directly onto the loo seat!

It's 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 that lives on the uncovered seat. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the loo 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 bottom and runs down your legs (along with the various life forms) into you dishevelled pants, which have now dropped to your ankles. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty loo-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 loo seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe yourself with a piece of chewing gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out conspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the taps, so you rub your hands underneath it, grateful for the two 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 dryer, 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 loo paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you needed it?)
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's your handbag hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public loos. It also finally explains to men what really does take us so long, and also answers their other frequently-asked question about why women go to the loo in pairs.

It's so the other one can hold the door, hang onto your handbag and hand you tissue under the door!"

5 comentários:

  1. Fantástico! É que é mesmo assim, sem tirar nem pôr...

    ResponderEliminar
  2. Bem, isso nunca me aconteceu tudo ao mesmo tempo. Por acaso sou daquelas pessoas que, como costumo dizer muito carinhosamente, mija que nem uma vaca :) De duas em duas horas lá vou eu à casinha e, quando estou fora de casa o stress é muito maior. Não gosto de ir à casa de banho acompanhada porque as almas que me acompanham não páram de fazer perguntas enquanto o que eu quero é fazer xixi em silêncio he he Mas o pior é no Inverno... cheias de roupa, sobretudos compridos e etc... quando não há nada na casa de banho que nos dê uma ajuda, então tem mesmo que ser uma amiga a fazer esse milagre :)

    ResponderEliminar
  3. Ouve lá (como se eu estivesse a gritar) porque raio é que na lateral do dia laranja eu sou a única alma que não tenho nome? Por acaso sou diferente das outras? Substitui lá o Canela Moída por Ameixinha, sim?
    :p
    Vê lá se queres que eu me chateie... aiiii :)

    ResponderEliminar
  4. Pequete,

    Super Fantástico! A minha amiga quando deparou com este artigo na tal revista escocesa, deu-se ao trabalho de fazer a cópia manual integral para trazer às amigas.

    Depois deu-se ao trabalho de redigir para word e enviar para todas por mail, por ser tão fantástico e completo.

    Eu dei-me ao trabalho de o ilustrar e publicar. Hoje lembrei-me de o puxar desde ABR 08 para a actualidade para partilhar convosco.

    É um artigo francamente genial.
    ___________________________________
    Ameixinha,

    tal e qual como disseste, acontecer isto tudo ao mesmo tempo é um azar do caraças!

    Ai que estou farta de rir com os teus comentários. Fazias-me cá falta, és "de partir o côco" a rir :-))

    Eu também vou "n" vezes à casa de banho por dia. E tenho mais um problema não referido aqui: uma filha que está sempre a abrir a porta do cubiculo antes de eu estar despachada. Então por hábito, ela abre a porta (deve ser claustrofóbica) e estou eu de rabo espetádo na dita posição!

    Beijinhos,
    P.S.-Coluna direita devidamte rectificada (sorry!).

    ResponderEliminar
  5. Pasate por mi blog, tengo algo para tí.
    Que tengas una buena semana.

    ResponderEliminar