What Goes On in Women's Restrooms

Hello, ladies and gentlemen, today I shall try and unravel one of the greatest mysteries of womankind, something which has puzzled jobless and horny men for years: what really goes on in women's washrooms?

So I'm at the mall with the family, and I've just enjoyed a good film and I'm feeling happy and light, when I suddenly realise that the Coke which I had glugged down is now really pressing hard against my bladder. It must be let out NOW. As is custom, my mother accompanies me and since they've got to kill five minutes, my brother and dad decide they might as well empty their bladders, too.

I walk into the washroom, and I spot a row of ladies examining some microscopic flaw in the right corner of their upper lips in the large mirrors and readying their ammunition to blast that blemish to bits. One lady was rolling out her lipstick almost with a vengeance, and another was reapplying coat after coat of mascara. I wondered why her thickly crusted eyelashes had not fallen out yet. Or maybe, they had fallen out, and she was wearing fake ones! Another, I watched from the corner of my eye, was holding up her hair on top of her head, and tilting her head this way and that to find out which was style flattered her face the most. Then, deciding her double chin looked too jiggly with her present style, let her hair loose and sucked in her belly to make it look flat (ha, as if YOU haven't ever done it before.), a wasted effort, in my opinion, since her outfit already lovingly brought out every unflattering bulge (I'm going to a special place in hell which the reserve for hypocrites and judgmental bastards).

My mom had dumped her bag on me and gone into one of the cubicles (she always believes in going one after the other in public places. It's 'safer that way' she says. Who am I to judge?). I glanced at the mirror right in front of me for sheer want of something to do, and I immediately cringed. I could fully appreciate the true wisdom of 'Ignorance is Bliss'. The harsh lighting made me look like a bloated pineapple with a bad hair day. Immediately I had the urge to suck in my belly (ha, as if YOU haven't ever done it before.), get a Botox surgery and starve myself. But then, I did something which made it all unnecessary. I turned my back on the effing mirror, telling myself that something was 'wrong with it' and it was the 'lighting' which was making me look like Lindsay Lohan on hard drugs (hmm, that is kind of flattering). Thankfully, my mom reappeared at that moment, and I went to pee in peace. 

Later that evening, I find myself in a different bathroom, one which is luxuriouly furnished, lit with a soft golden glow, and blissfully empty. As I stared into the gilded mirror, my mind was going through a painful internal struggle. 

Mind: It's just such a stupid, stereotypical thing to do!

FatMe (that's my name in my mind's chatroom): But everyone does it!

Mind: You're stupid.

FatMe: Why, thank you.

After furtively checking the door, I fish out my phone, aaaannd SELFIES! *Click-click-click-click*

HA, as if YOU haven't ever done it before.

Pip-pip!