It was a cold winter morning. I woke up as usual, one minute before the alarm went off, and headed downstairs for a shower. After hosing off the previous day's bad karma and air pollutants, I headed back upstairs to get dressed. I chose a pair of baggy jeans from the buffet of dirty clothes on the floor and hopped in. (I don't do it one leg at a time... You do the math)
I headed out to school to make my 8 o'clock. I innocently sat through a lecture on muscle motor units and twitch response, with no foresight of a problem.
After class, I decided it was too cold to walk around with my bladder so burdened, so I strolled over to the nearest lavatory facility. I carefully chose a hairless, non-frothing urinal and unzipped my fly. After a few seconds, I looked down to see that semester's strike of terror. (No, that was fine) I looked down to see a pair of my raspberry colored underwear hanging out of my pant leg, onto my left shoe. Not just a little, but three quarters the way, and they were being held by my tapered pant leg.
I blushed, flushed and quickly pulled them the rest of the way our and tucked them into my coat pocket. I remembered walking past some football players in the lobby, and giving them my always confident, "Hay."
Hee-haw, hee-haw.
At least I found them in the john. It's the best place to keep a man's behavior in check; there are rules you know. No talking; no looking; no hesitation; wash your hands if there are other people in there. "A man's ambitions must be small to read the writing on the shit-house wall." I think it's a mandatory boredom-fighter.
And while we're there, pants off to those little toilet paper stopppers. Man, don't those piss you off? Like one sheet is going to finish any job. In microbiology they teach that it takes seven layers of toilet paper to keep anything undesirable from contaminating your hand. (I can't believe I just wrote that)
I'd like to meet the guy that invented the T.P. Stopper. I bet he's one hell of a bargain shopper. He probably lives on Spam sandwiches, and uses the bread bags for winter boots.
Now how about that toilet seat. In both men's and women's public rest rooms, the seat is always up. It also seams that women are just as lazy as men when it comes to targeting. I understand from a reliable source that if a seat looks like a bad situation, women just "hover?" (I can't believe I wrote that either!)
Then at home, women don't mess around with complaining about the seat being up. You play dirty and buy those thick padded toilet seat covers. You know that those things won't just lean against the reservoir. We have to stand there and hold them up. Or the other option is to sit down.
Well, real men don't eat quiche; and real men don't pee sitting down.