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 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

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 (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). 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!

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so
accurately!

A little old lady is walking down the street, dragging two plastic garbage bags, one in each hand. There's a hole in one of the bags, and once in a while a $20 bill flies out of it onto the pavement.
Noticing this, a policeman stops her. "Ma'am, there are $20 bills falling out of that bag..." "Damn!" says the little old lady ... "I'd better go back and see if I can find some of them. Thanks for the warning!"
"Well, now, not so fast," says the cop. "How did you get all that money? Did you steal it?"
"Oh, no", says the little old lady. "You see, my back yard backs up to the parking lot of the football stadium. Each time there's a game, a lot of fans come and pee in the bushes, right into my flower beds!" So, I go and stand behind the bushes with a big hedge clipper, and each time someone sticks his thingie through the bushes, I yell: '$20 or off it comes!'" "Hey, not a bad idea!" laughs the cop. "Good luck!" By the way, what's in the other bag?" "Well", says the little old lady, "Not all of them pay"

One evening, a bird-lover stood in his backyard and hooted like an owl and an owl called back to him! They had a whole "conversation." He tried it again the next night, and the next and the owl always answered. He was fascinated. Sometime later his wife had a chat with her next door neighbor. "My husband spends his nights calling out to owls," she said.

"That's odd," the neighbor replied. "So does my husband."

Just then it dawned on them.

And the Lord said unto John, "come forth and you will receive eternal life".
John came fifth and won a toaster.

Jokes about white sugar are rare, but jokes about brown sugar? Demerara

To the person who stole my MS Office, I will find you. You have my Word.