women go to the ladies restrooms in pairs?
What would you think if I turned to the guy sitting at our table and
said “Would you like to go the john with me, Bubba?” I’m not sure I
would live long enough to get an answer.
Not knowing how this works from the other side of the door, I once
engaged my wife in a conversation about exactly why it takes so long
to do your business.
My wife Christine is the kindest, most patient human being I’ve ever
met, which is why my marriage has survived four decades. It never
concerns her that there is a line in the ladies restroom.
My bride politely explained to me that you smile and respectfully wait
your turn to enter a stall. Since men don’t have stalls, this concept
is foreign to us. We have troughs at which we stand to do our
business. A woman’s horror story is to witness another woman on the
throne and worse yet to be seen on one.
So you politely look under the door to see if there’s a set of feet on
the other side. If the sense of urgency overwhelms you, you might
knock the exiting female over while trying to get to the stall.
If necessary, most men would share the same head simultaneously and
not give it a second thought. “How’d the Yankees do last night?” says
urinary partner number one. “Don’t know, Bubba… I think they lost.
It went into extra innings and I had to go to hit the rack.”
A woman would wet her pants before sharing a toilet with another
woman. Not gonna happen!
Another issue for a woman is the hundred pound purse (sic) that most
of them carry. God forbid that they place it on the floor next to the
toilet. If men carried purses, they would never put them on the floor
either because most men are lousy targets when it comes to their
bathroom habits. Mercifully, we do not carry a purse.
Women’s stalls, my wife reports, usually have hooks on the door on
which someone can hang the 100-pound bag that holds items she hasn’t
used in years but nevertheless carries around everywhere.
Naturally, my next question to my dear wife was “What if there’s no
hook on the door?” She responded, “You hang it around your neck!” Duh.
The next challenge for the woman is to get into “the stance.” This is
a polite term for squatting over the toilet. If you were following men
into the toilet, the “stance” is a necessity due to the aforementioned
accuracy of the average male in the john. But women shouldn’t be
making a similar mess (unless they are doing their business from “the
stance.”) Makes them wish they’d spent more time doing squats in the
My wife is so prepared that she takes wipes and other cleaning tools
to get the bathroom in shape, especially if she’s accompanying my
granddaughters Ava or Ashley.
There isn’t a bathroom in any building that the granddaughters have
ever entered that they have not yet visited, whether they needed to or
Another ladies room issue is toilet paper. We men will use the USA
Today if necessary. Again my wife takes her own roll of toilet paper
into every bathroom she’s ever entered.
If you’re fortunate enough to find a bathroom that does have toilet
tissue it’s so thin that it disintegrates in your hands before the job
is even started or it’s the size of a postage stamp. So I get the
toilet paper roll.
Women would scream in terror if they ever sat on a wet toilet seat.
Men simply pull their pants up and remind themselves to take them to
the laundry when they get home.
And then there’s the issue of the automatic toilet flush. My wife
suggests to me that “the stance” is an almost sure-fire way of getting
“flushed on” before you’ve completed your business. Now you have the
additional detriment of splashing toilet water (similar to a geyser
coming at you from the blind side). This will soak your shoes if not
your lower outer wear.
Not only are you expected to wipe with the postage-stamp sized toilet
tissue but you’re going to have to dry your hind side from the geyser.
Next you go to the automated sink faucets which aren’t automated at
all. In fact, they never work. My wife will whip out the Germ-X and go
about her business. What about the poor woman who doesn’t carry the
hundred pound bag my wife carries? You either spit in your hand or you
stop at the nearest water fountain and wash your hands there.
It ever the occasion presented itself for a man, anything involving
toilet paper is going to bite us. We’ll either have it trailing out of
our pants or affixed to one of our shoes. We laugh it off.
A woman goes into hiding for a year and curses the fact that there was
no toilet paper in the head when she needed it. Now it follows her
around all day until some other victim of the same embarrassment
kindly reports it to her.
That’s life in the ladies room… and that’s why they travel in pairs.
Michael Aun is a syndicated columnist and writes a weekly column for
this newspaper. To contact Michael Aun, email him at