Conquering The Throne: Why Men Can Never Truly Understand Women

                A few years ago my husband and I went out for a lovely night of dinner and a movie to celebrate our Anniversary. Being a special occasion, I dressed up pretty in a skirt and low heels, and enjoyed a little drink with dinner. Apparently I was not the designated driver this night. I'm not much of a drinker, so I didn't indulge in more than a second glass. Although, not being a drinker, one is really all it takes to loosen me up and two is comfortably tipsy, while still being completely coherent-- which is what makes this story so much fun.

                After our nice meal we headed straight off to the movie theater.  We weren't running late, but we wanted to be sure we got there in time to get parked, buy tickets, get good seats and unscramble the Coca-Cola movie word . Since we had left the restaurant immediately, I had not had the opportunity to visit their fine facilities. I was feeling pretty good at this point but I really had to go. Once in the theater I asked my hubby to wait while I made a quick pit-stop before the film. Unlike most places where large groups assemble, there were plenty of available stalls in the impressively clean Ladies Room. I selected mine, entered, and prepared to conduct my business.

                I began by checking the toilet paper roll to be sure it was abundant-- not that I needed that much, but one never wants to get stuck without some to spare and some to share. Next I withdrew a tissue paper seat cover, following the cleverly provided directions of "Pull up, then pull down," for those unsure of how to access these items. As if there was some alternate way you could do it.  Now, if you tried to wrap a present with this frail stuff it would fall apart just from being breathed on to heavily, but here in the stall it becomes an obstacle of great fortitude.  When you attempt  to detach that one little un-perforated piece on the toilet seat cover you end up ripping the whole thing to shreds (except the little hook part which remains intact.)  I am always amazed that despite the bowl shaped cut out, that one little attached piece seems to be held on with some super cosmic force, which if harnessed could be utilized to build a lightweight space shuttle. (I'd like to note here that there are actually entire online discussions as to whether it should be placed Waxie side-up or down, but I'm not sure I've ever been lucky enough to reach the point where this decision was a factor.)

                I finished wrestling with my shreds of toilet seat cover just in time-- as I was beginning the infamous pee-pee dance. Why it helps to dance around on your tippy toes, hopping from foot to foot while humming softly,  is a scientific mystery baffling experts to this day. But, it works. I neatly arranged my strips of tissue paper out on the seat and turned to wiggle out of my panty hose. As I tossed up the back of my skirt I allowed the "Big Brother" automatic toilet flusher to catch a glimpse of light. WHOOSH! Instinctively I made a desperate grab for the coveted seat cover uttering a slow-motion, action-movie "Nooooo," as it was sucked down the drain with hurricane force. I could actually feel the breeze left in its wake. I couldn't help but giggle at my own reaction. As though I could have used the soaking wet thing had I managed to rescue it from its demise. So there I was, giggling and humming softly as I danced around the stall and attacked another seat cover.

                At this point I would like to make a public service announcement by taking a moment to address those ladies among you who avoid this part of the experience.  Instead taking this opportunity to combine two functions into one--conducting your daily exercise routine with a power squat, hovering over the toilet. You're not going to catch anything by sitting on the seat, especially if you use a cover. YOU are the one creating the possible contamination by peeing all over the damn thing and then just walking away. Sit your ass down. I do not want to wipe urine off the toilet in my own home. I sure as hell don't want to clean up after a stranger! *We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog*

                So, I finally had my seat covered in a collage of tissue a second time and attempted to turn around again but the toilet gods had other plans and immediately my seat cover was snatched away in a whirlwind before my eyes. WHOOSH! Apparently this was a sensitive little red eye, keen on keeping my stall clean. But rather than just change stalls I decided to accept the challenge. The gauntlet had been thrown, so to speak,  and I was picking it up in fits of laughter. The alcohol may or may not have played a part in this decision. You may judge for yourself.

                The next time I made my attempt I thought I had outsmarted my worthy adversary. This time after laying out my tattered rag-lets I continued to face my opponent. I pulled my skirt up behind me, slowly, readying my sneak attack. I wrapped my skirt around my waist, as is necessary if you don't want the ends to take a dip with you, and held it close to my body with my elbows. Next I placed a few fingers on the cover near the front of the toilet. Cautiously I began my rotation keeping my fingers on the seat. I stepped carefully over my own arm so I was straddling it, bent over with my arm between my legs like a lonely Twister player-- right hand yellow. Now here is where I *know* the alcohol played a part. Never a pro at working the heels I wobbled ever so slightly, overcompensated in my attempt to regain balance, fell forward and slammed my face into the stall door. WHOOOSH!

                How I managed not to just pee myself while I struggled up the wall in hysterical laughter I have no idea. I was aware that there had to be other women in this place, but none having quite as good a time as I was, and all probably leaving the restroom looking over their shoulders in bewilderment. I am certain my husband had to know I was the culprit. How could he not?

                Determined, I faced my foe again, dancing and prepping in an increasingly smaller space, hunched over, honing my skills, skirt pulled up over my shoulders. I quickly placed the hastily ripped pieces of tissue on the plastic seat giggling manically. (I admit to having considered the lick and stick method.) This time I held the tissue to the seat but did not reattempt the failed Twister maneuver. I rotated in a crouch, my seat level with the toilet's, with my hand to my side and then behind me. I slowly slid over the tissue, barely feeling it brush my flesh until I was in place right above it. I released my hold and plopped down on my throne just as the toilet flushed, WHOOOSH, spitting and snarling all over me as I found my relief and victory simultaneously. The monster roared one more time while I adjusted, twice while I redressed and one final time as I opened the stall door. I kept my composure as I exited, resisting my urge to stick my tongue out at the defeated, looking around like everyone else for that raving lunatic. I would have made my escape clean too if not for the sink.

                After waving my hands furiously under the faucet trying to illicit a spray of water, I turned to use another sink. As soon as I removed my hands water spewed out of the faucet but stopped as I dove back toward it. Clearly this was some ally of the toilet, out for revenge. I threw my hands up and laughed aloud for all to see. I walked down the line waving and poking at sinks. Eventually I was able to find a renegade sympathizer and after much coaxing was allowed to wash my hands. I avoided the mechanized hand dryer completely, leaving that mission for a return adventure. I was pretty sure at this point it could take me. Smiling broadly I exited the Ladies Room and walked toward my husband who had prudently found a bench to wait on. He rose and innocently asked the question I know I would have asked.
"What took so long?"
I tried to explain, but how could I possibly make clear in detail the quest and triumph-- and not sound like a complete idiot? A man could never truly understand. I had fought the porcelain god and won-- for now. It's not just professional  inequality, social pressure to meet an unattainable norm, monthly cycles, child birth, and restrictive undergarments. Sometimes, as  women, we have to battle challenges men could never begin to imagine.