Only a woman will TRULY relate to this (and husbands
 will better understand...)!

My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms.
 When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall,
teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat.
 Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat.
  Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of
 balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without
 actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the
 toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg. That was a
 long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The
 Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain,
 especially when one's bladder is full.
When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you
usually find a line of women that makes you think
 there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in
 there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the
 other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and
 smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet
 under the stall doors. Every one 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
 dispenser for the new fangled "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
 hang it around your neck (mom would turn over in her
  if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your
 pants, and assume "The Stance."
Ahhhh, relief. More relief.
 But then your thighs 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" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an
 eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of 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 would have tried to clean the seat,
 you...
 Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that
you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's
 still in your purse.  You crumple it
 in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller
than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door
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, and sliding down, directly onto the
 insidious toilet seat. You bolt up, knowing all too well that
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 ashamed
 of you if she knew, because you're certain that 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, sending up a
 stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly
 sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto
 the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off.
 You're soaked. You're exhausted. You try
 to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket,
 then 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 a line of women,
still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no
 longer able to smile politely.
 One kind soul at the very end of the line points out
 that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on
 your... (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly,"Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since
 entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read
 a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.
 Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your
 purse hanging around your neck?" 

This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever
had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've
 got it, and it finally explains to men
 what really does take us so long. It also answers their
other commonly asked question about why women go to
 the restroom in pairs.    It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door.