You are in for a treat today. I'm going to - free of charge - let you in on a secret. A concept that has puzzled men for years. It's a question you all have asked yourself at least once before.
Why is it that women have to go to the bathroom in groups? And what takes them soooo long?
I hope you realize the sacrifice I'm making to divulge this information. I could potentially lose all (3) of my loyal female bloggers. At the risk of being asked to leave Blogger World, I'll quickly explain the phenomenon known as "freshing up".
Let's say you are a counselor for a week at a youth camp full of teenagers. This is all hypothetical of course. Let's continue the example by stating the evening activity is a dance. Since this assumed camp is located at some vacant-for-the-summer college campus, this imagined dance would probably be located in a gym of sorts. To spice the story up a bit, let's pretend that although the air conditioning works, it isn't sufficient to keep the gymnasium completely cool. Add some Georgia humidity and our story gets exciting.
In our scenario, you have to go to the bathroom. You find the ladies room quickly and discover about - just imagine with me - 15 girls huddled around the mirror and all 8 stalls empty. Let's pretend the girls really don't see you walk in and continue their intense conversation. Since the loud music is muffled through the walls, you can hear all their comments.
Before I tell you what these girls might have said if this were a real situation, I need to state that all comments would be said with sincerity. A bathroom is no place for joking. Complete analysis of the situation, say a dance, must be discussed thoroughly before anyone may leave. The bathroom is where you take care of business...literally.
So if you were in a bathroom with some girls who were momentarily absent from a supposed dance in a gym, you might hear the following.
* I just came to the bathroom to see how ugly my hair is.
* He's cute but does he have nice arms?
* Oh! my bangs are so poofy!
...and my personal favorite...
* It is hotter than a camel's butt in the middle of the summer on that dance floor.
And that's when you realize a mammal-certified proctologist is in your midst. Hypothetically speaking of course.