Stop stalling!

This is dedicated to Kelly.
In all my years of being a girl, I’ve never been able to understand just what the hell others of my gender are doing in the ladies room for so long. I’m not talking about the primping and the preening and all that other girly girl garbage, but about what goes on in the actual stalls.
What’s going ON in there? Why does it take so long to use the facilities? What the hell are are you DOING in that little enclosure that is almost as claustrophobia-inspiring as a coffin (except without the pretty velvet)? Just pull down your pants, squat/hover/plunk your ass down, do what you have to do, get the hell up, zip/button/lace up your pants, and get out. Leave the stall. Don’t dawdle. Just get OUT.
The entire operation should not take longer than one minute. Tops. (This, of course, does not include those special, tender moments that come around once a month and stick around for a few days; for those special occasions, an extra 30 seconds or so is acceptable.)
I don’t know how many times I’ve had to stand in some godfuckingawful line for more minutes than I have fingers and toes, all because someone is undertaking something so complicated that it requires more than a minute to accomplish it. How many times have I flown out of a restroom in a fury, after having spent 20 minutes there, only 5% of which was devoted to the actual activity for which I was waiting, and spit out venomously to the “DOG”, through gritted teeth that could spur TMJ, “What the FUCK takes these bitches so goddamned LONG? What are they DOING in there — massaging their goddamned TWATS?”
I was once in a line during the intermission of a friend’s performance, waiting to use a restroom that contained only one stall. The line was probably about ten deep, and I was “at bat” next. I was all excited. At last my time had come. I was prepared: I’d unzipped my pants and hidden the unzippity-do-dah behind my bag. Ready to go go go! The only problem was that some girl was in there hogging the room for at least five minutes.
I turned to the guy behind me, a deliciously freaky fop, and said, “You know … when it’s my turn in there, I’m going to go so fast that you are going to swear I have a dick!” He and several others behind him guffawed, and he said, “Oh, I know what you mean! Pee, check the hair, and just leave!”
When my turn finally arrived, I bolted into the room, did what I had to do (even including a little flip of the hair), and left.
“Forty-five seconds!” the fop said, applauding.
(That would’ve been the only time I would have accepted someone saying, “You GO, girl!”)
Is this just further proof that I am, indeed, a man?
Oh, and while I’m at it, I just have to touch on two more things that pisses me off about restroom behavior:

  1. Do not, under any circumstances, talk to me while you are “going”. Do not engage me in conversation while I am. The general rule is this, and I’m going to use the direct quote that I used to educate my friend Jennifer when she violated this rule: “If your twat is out, shut the fuck up.”
  2. Do not ask me if I have a feminine hygiene product. More specifically, do not ask if you can borrow a tampon. If I have one in my bag it’s because, well, I’m gonna need it that day, so there’s no way I’m going to give it to you. Further, if you ask me if you can “borrow” a tampon, I certainly don’t want you to give it back.

It’s aaalll about lookin’ out for #1.