Things that I have learned since I've matured....

I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in.

I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just assholes.

I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.

I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes.  After that, you'd better have a big willy or huge boobs.

I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to others - they are more screwed up than you think.

I've learned that you can keep vomiting long after you think you're finished.

I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, unless we are celebrities.

I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades, and there had better be a lot of money to take its place.

(Oh yes, it's true indeed, and if they tell you they like kissing - their lying...  They really, really don't.  They just say that as the quickest route to getting your knickers off  - trust me on this one - it definitely does not last.)

I've learned that 99% of the time when something isn't working in your house, one of your kids did it.

I've learned to say "F--- 'em if they can't take a joke" in 6 languages.

I'm sorry folks, but I just have to leave my toilet humour joke up for another month... it's just too good to take down yet, so if you've already read it - tough ......

This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public toilet; and it finally explains to all men what takes us so long!

My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she'd take me into the cubicle and show me how to first wipe the seat with a wad of toilet roll, then carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, never sit on a public toilet seat."

And 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. But by this time, I'd have wet down my leg. And we'd go home….

That was a long time ago. I've had lots of experience with public toilets since then, but I'm still not particularly fond of public toilets, especially those new ones with the powerful, red-eye sensors. Those toilets know when you want them to flush. They are psychic toilets.

I always confuse their psychic ability however, by following my mother's advice and assuming the Stance. The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is especially full.

When you really have to "go" in a public toilet, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Mel Gibson's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling politely. And you finally get closer. You check for feet under the cubicle doors. Every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman on the way out.

You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. You hang your handbag on the door hook, yank down your knickers and assume the Stance. Relief. More relief. 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 it, you reach for the toilet paper. Might as well be ready when you’re finished. The toilet paper dispenser is empty. Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on that's in your bag. It will have to do. You reach for your bag, but it’s too high up on the hook, so you have to reach up, almost in a standing position, pull the handle up, and off the hook. You’ve now dribbled down your leg. (Why are those hooks always so high up?)

You fumble in your bag for the tissue. Your legs are now shaking like jelly. You fumble some more. A Tampax jumps out, rolls under the door and into the waiting queue. God, you’d forgotten about the Tampax. You could have peeled the paper off and used that. Never mind you’ve now found the bit of tissue tightly screwed up in the bottom of your bag. You reach up to hang your handbag back on the hook. There’s No WAY it’s going on that dirty wet floor. Another dribble trickles down your leg, but never mind, at least you now have the bit of tissue. You try to fluff it up in the puffiest way possible. It’s still only about the size of a cotton wool ball, but still, it’s better than nothing!

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work and your handbag flies out and whacks you in the head. "Occupied!" you scream as you reach out for the door, dropping your tissue in a puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat. You get up quickly, but it's too late.

Your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any, even if you had enough time to.

And your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, "You don't know what kind of diseases you could get." And 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 and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China.

At that point, you give up. . You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with the cardboard insert from the toilet roll that you’ve unwrapped in desperation. You then slink out as inconspicuously as possible to the sinks.

You eventually figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, but the automatic drier is definitely not working – it’s not just your lack of technological skill – you know this for sure because the paper towel dispenser is empty, and the roller-towel has become stuck in the ‘finished’ position. You now have a choice of finding one dry spot at the back of the towel somewhere that perhaps someone before you hasn’t looked, or wiping your hands down your trousers. The trousers win, you just can’t be bothered at this stage.

You walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged, unable to smile politely at this point. One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Andrex advert! You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and say warmly, "Here. You might need this."

Outside, you see your spouse, who has entered, used and exited his bathroom and read a copy of Maxim while waiting for you. "What took you so long?" he asks, annoyed. This is when you kick him sharply in the shin and go home.