I went to the bathroom at work today and thought it was curious that the men’s room door had only this silhouette of a person to mark it for use by men. I looked at the door of the lady’s room and the same silhouette was there, but there was a slight protrusion that was supposed to mimic how a skirt or dress would look in silhouette. I wondered why they didn’t just put a wang on the silhouette of the man, and boobs on the silhouette of the woman.
I thought about how confusing it might be for a small child wondering which restroom to use. After all, people do bring their children and grandchildren into the building now and then. Women used to wear dresses and skirts all the time, but now they seem to wear mostly jeans and shorts. It’s rare to see a woman in a skirt. I wonder if people even know what those skirt protrusions are supposed to represent. To a child, they might represent full britches.
Then I thought about how children, and even grownups, that lived in Scotland might see the silhouettes. Men wear kilts there, so how are they supposed to distinguish which restroom to use?
People are funny like that. They assume because they make this subtle change to something, like a silhouette, that others will recognize the significance and know what the person was thinking when they did this or that. I notice this a lot with people; they look at everything from their point of view and never stop to ask why someone is thinking this way, or doing this or that, or what others may think.
It’s like the time when I was renting a house and was responsible for keeping the grass mowed. I was mowing the lawn in my tidy whities and flip-flops. The neighbor lady called the police and there was a big fuss. She accused me of being a pervert, so I had to explain to the police what had happened.
My wife had just done the laundry the night before and everything was neatly folded and sitting in baskets in the garage, ready to be put away. But she was tired and fell asleep and never got around to it. A neighborhood dog found its way into the garage through a side door and had urinated all over the clean clothes, and my shoes that I kept in the garage. I certainly couldn’t wear those clothes, and the lawn needed mowing before the girls in my Tupperware club got there for lunch.
The only thing that was clean, that wasn’t dress pants, was my tidy whities. I certainly wasn’t going to wear good dress pants to mow the lawn in the middle of August when it was so easy to suffer heatstroke. So, I just made do with what I had.
If that lady had only taken the time to ask me why I was mowing the grass in such a way, she would have discovered a logical reason. But, instead, she thought of her world and how she always wears “proper attire” when working in the yard. She assumed that I was a pervert.
Later on, in the spring, I pressed my genitalia against her bedroom window when she was getting ready for bed, and it was wonderful. She called the police on me again. That one was a little harder to explain away.
I thought about how confusing it might be for a small child wondering which restroom to use. After all, people do bring their children and grandchildren into the building now and then. Women used to wear dresses and skirts all the time, but now they seem to wear mostly jeans and shorts. It’s rare to see a woman in a skirt. I wonder if people even know what those skirt protrusions are supposed to represent. To a child, they might represent full britches.
Then I thought about how children, and even grownups, that lived in Scotland might see the silhouettes. Men wear kilts there, so how are they supposed to distinguish which restroom to use?
People are funny like that. They assume because they make this subtle change to something, like a silhouette, that others will recognize the significance and know what the person was thinking when they did this or that. I notice this a lot with people; they look at everything from their point of view and never stop to ask why someone is thinking this way, or doing this or that, or what others may think.
It’s like the time when I was renting a house and was responsible for keeping the grass mowed. I was mowing the lawn in my tidy whities and flip-flops. The neighbor lady called the police and there was a big fuss. She accused me of being a pervert, so I had to explain to the police what had happened.
My wife had just done the laundry the night before and everything was neatly folded and sitting in baskets in the garage, ready to be put away. But she was tired and fell asleep and never got around to it. A neighborhood dog found its way into the garage through a side door and had urinated all over the clean clothes, and my shoes that I kept in the garage. I certainly couldn’t wear those clothes, and the lawn needed mowing before the girls in my Tupperware club got there for lunch.
The only thing that was clean, that wasn’t dress pants, was my tidy whities. I certainly wasn’t going to wear good dress pants to mow the lawn in the middle of August when it was so easy to suffer heatstroke. So, I just made do with what I had.
If that lady had only taken the time to ask me why I was mowing the grass in such a way, she would have discovered a logical reason. But, instead, she thought of her world and how she always wears “proper attire” when working in the yard. She assumed that I was a pervert.
Later on, in the spring, I pressed my genitalia against her bedroom window when she was getting ready for bed, and it was wonderful. She called the police on me again. That one was a little harder to explain away.
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