There’s just one main thing I want to write about for today – I promise. Well, I mean, I might throw something really short at the end to say goodbye for another day, but that won’t be more than a paragraph. I tend to ramble, so I’m going to attempt to control my mouth – er, fingers – today.
Anyways, in my in-depth, detailed studies of the female species, including all that is exterior and interior, both outward and inward, I have noticed something strange. Well, I’ve noticed many strange things, but there just wouldn’t be enough time to go into all that detail. Today I was in class and we had just finished up our Grammar quiz. A few people were still putting the finishing touches on it, but for those that were finished, Mr. G said that we could take a break between classes. So I was sitting in my desk, and one by one all the girls left the room. That was to be expected, of course, since I have already written about the bladder control problems that frequent women. However, after a few minutes, I started to worry. None of them had returned yet. The only people left in the classroom were guys, and surely not even a woman could take 3 or 4 minutes to go to the washroom. So I decided to investigate.
Under the guise that I myself had to go to the washroom, I walked to the men’s room, which is, as in the case of most buildings, next to the ladies’ room. (A side study could be started to discover the reason behind the washroom being labelled “Ladies,” when most females that enter there are far from having this description applied to them. But alas, that must be kept for another day.) Upon nearing the door to the washroom, I heard talking and giggling. A look of astonishment and amazement came over my face.
I suppose men and women have a differing concept of what a washroom is used for. You see, men are usually of the opinion that the washroom is for unzipping one’s pants and engaging in the most primal of human functions. Washrooms are for emptying one’s bladder or bowels, and then, after cleaning up from this act, leaving. It is a rare occurrence that men will even talk to one another in the washroom. It’s just something we don’t do. I mean, some men don’t mind that, and that’s fine I suppose, but after they’re done doing what they came into the washroom to do, they leave. They don’t hang around in the washroom for longer than they have to.
Women, on the other hand, seem to use the washroom not for releasing their fluids, but rather for releasing their speech. I suppose it would be foolish of me to think that women would ever stop talking, but the fact is that I was done in the washroom before they were, and was sitting down back in the classroom before any of them had left. Then, after a few minutes, suddenly a group of girls walks back into the classroom, all at the same time. It was strange – like a herd of buffalo rushing off a cliff, the girls entered the room. Actually, I suppose the sight of them wanted me to run off a cliff, but that’s another story for another time. The fact I deduced from this sight, however, was that the girls all hung out in the washroom to chat. I mean, they likely had to go to the washroom, since that’s all they do, but it doesn’t take 5-10 minutes to release one’s fluids; at least it doesn’t take me that long, or any other healthy person for that matter. My only conclusion was that women, after going to the washroom, stay in there to talk.
My question is why they would choose that location to talk. Isn’t there a better place that you could talk in, rather than a room with toilets in it, that smells of a mixture between human odours and cleaning fluids? I could think of a few places. So why the washroom? My thoughts – pure speculation, mind you, since all attempt at logical reasoning on women is entirely wasted – are that they either a) wanted to talk about the guys in the class, b) wanted to talk about the male teacher that can’t go into the washroom, or c) are just stupid. While I suspect that it is most likely a combination of all three of these options, I also suspect that they see nothing wrong with hanging out in a washroom for no reason other than to talk – a scary thought, let me tell you. They likely think that men actually talk to each other in washrooms like they do – something of which most men would cringe at the thought. It’s just nasty when you’re standing at a urinal holding your private parts and another guy looks over and starts to chat with you. It’s a private moment, and we like to keep it private. I suppose with the stalls in the women’s washroom, females can talk and still keep their privacy, but I doubt that when all those females were in that washroom that they were all in stalls the entire time. First of all, the washroom wouldn’t be big enough for about 6 or 7 girls to all have stalls, and second, I doubt that they would hang around to talk inside a stall for 10 minutes.
Whatever the case may be, my conclusion is that women are stupid. They might not be stupid in the mental sense, although some are quite mentally deficient. They’re stupid because they are logically deficient, unable to reason coherently, all the while deceiving themselves into thinking that they can. They make no sense whatsoever, and even less sense than that when it’s their “time of the month.” I would propose that men ship all females off to some other planet where they belong, but the problem is that at the same time that we cannot understand them, we also need them as much as they need us. Their heads are empty without us, and our lives are empty without them. There is a limited supply of sports and wars in this world, and without women, there would be a lot of chronically drunk men. I suppose the only real way to achieve perfection on this world would be to give every man a roll of duct tape and have him tape every woman’s mouth shut that he sees. It would make the world more peaceful and there would be fewer psychotic men.
So that is my attempt at understanding women. I realize that I have completely failed my task, but I’ve likely gotten further than many of my same gender have. That’s about all I have to say about this – for now, at least – and now I must sign off by saying, “This is Jeff, signing off.” I really don’t know why I keep getting the term “signing off” in my head, but whatever. Ciao!