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Tales from the bathroom 

Why us girls travel in packs so often

This week I am here to answer the age old question that has been piquing the curiosity of men across the nightlife scene: Why the hell do girls always go the bathroom in groups?

No, we don't need moral support to break our seal, we don't have organized male-bashing meetings and, contrary to assumption, we're definitely not making-out in the bathroom stall.

There is an unwritten restroom alliance that goes far beyond touching up at the vanity sink. The majority of the time when women are sharing a restroom they form a unique bond where they compliment each other, provide therapeutic services, chat couture and do toilet-paper-heel prevention checks. Now if only girls were this nice to each other outside the lady's room in the co-ed environment!

But don't get me wrong, there is some drama dropping in the stalls.

And now, for a behind-the-scenes look at the randomness that goes on in the girl's bathroom ...

Once upon a time in an Uptown restroom some chick was ranting to her bathroom buddy about her boyfriend's recent questionable quarks. Then a girl comes out of the stall relating to her situation. It was as though someone added water and stuck them in the microwave like oatmeal because they became instant friends within a minute. They exchanged numbers, encouragement and hair products, and the whole bathroom rallied around them to confront their men. It was like a scene from Legally Blonde, except the girls were only over-the-top because they were drunk. But upon exiting the bathroom they realized that the whole time they were talking about the same guy because he took off when he saw them walk out together.

And one night while I was waiting outside the occupied stalls of a two sitter restroom, two women were talking to each other through the stalls. I realized they were talking about my boss man and one of the women declared that she was going to jump his bones. It made me feel strange.

The other night, I found a drunken confused girl with a fresh gash across her face sitting in the corner of the bathroom. She didn't know where her friends were or how she got cut. All she seemed to know was that she didn't have insurance. So I took her phone and called all the people on her recent call list while a nursing school student, conveniently also in the bathroom, applied Neosporin to her face.

Now I have a question for the ladies: Why do we harp on men for leaving the toilet seat up? They don't bitch at us for leaving it down.

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