(no subject)
Have you ever noticed that we run out of things when we most desperately need them the most? Like our patience, right before we blow our top, or laundry detergent, when you need to wash clothes, or my personal favorite...toilet paper. By all that's holy, one should endeavor to never run out of toilet paper. There should be a charmin bear in every backyard in america, making the holy stuff so we can wipe, discard and flush. Clean, tidy, even, dare I say it, quaint. However, there is nothing quaint about it when you run out. No, instead there is the hover walk, where you, bent over and hoping desperately that nothing becomes dislodged in your awkward ambling, search in the most desperate desperation for a viable substitute...tissues are prefferable, but paper towels will work in a pinch. As will bunched newspapers, book pages, suddenly decided upon disposable clothing, maybe even that magazine lying in the corner with Ashley Simpson on the corner. After all, she made such a crapper out of her Saturday Night Live performance, shouldn't she then at least look the part?
But occasionally, you have that explosive situation that calls for the grandaddy of them all....the ultimate substitute...the shower.
Oh sure, cleaning afterwards will be a wonderful joy (sarcasm), but in lieu of clung dung, that suddenly becomes acceptable. So, you climb in, hit the hot water, and try not to think about the liquid coursing down your leg...It's water, it's water, it's water....but...you know it's not.
And when your done, there is the period of trying depsperately to regain your composure, to avoid the embarassment you must surely feel...better I say to just get used to it. Were all getting older, that's a part we have to look forward to. Hot showers and interminable sponge baths by a big lug named Claude, who's working his way through med school by wiping your aged, wrinkled bum. Wipe well Claude, your time is coming too...
But occasionally, you have that explosive situation that calls for the grandaddy of them all....the ultimate substitute...the shower.
Oh sure, cleaning afterwards will be a wonderful joy (sarcasm), but in lieu of clung dung, that suddenly becomes acceptable. So, you climb in, hit the hot water, and try not to think about the liquid coursing down your leg...It's water, it's water, it's water....but...you know it's not.
And when your done, there is the period of trying depsperately to regain your composure, to avoid the embarassment you must surely feel...better I say to just get used to it. Were all getting older, that's a part we have to look forward to. Hot showers and interminable sponge baths by a big lug named Claude, who's working his way through med school by wiping your aged, wrinkled bum. Wipe well Claude, your time is coming too...