Thursday, April 24, 2008

Addenda and Further Evidence of Being Doomed

I think I might need to apologize for making light of the papacy.

God seems to have something he (or she) is trying to tell me.

I arrived home filled with the giddy joys of spring, walked Gojira, returned and found myself in dire need of a trip to the bathroom.

I went in, chipper and prepared to do the unmentionable, and was assaulted by the stippled, translucent plastic panel over the light in our lovely suspended ceiling in the bathroom (large, wobbly, and fragile) which decided to run free and tumble out of its moorings onto my head.  It may have been trying to commit suicide after the loss of its companion light transmitting panel several months before our arrival here in this land of milk and honey.  I can't speculate on the motives of inanimate objects.

After rescuing the wayward guardian of the cavity in our bathroom ceiling, I realized: there was no toilet paper.

I, resourceful man that I am, decided to grab a reusable grocery bag and run to the local store.  Arrived there, reached up to grab a few rolls (after an eagle-eyed analysis of price and square footage of paper per roll) and was greeted with a deluge.  The toilet paper is stocked in the case cartons on top of the produce cases, and the entire top box of Four-Mega-Roll packs of Cottonelle came tumbling down onto my head.

As I was gathering myself from the assault of two cartons of toilet paper rolls, I looked over, and an elderly woman who had been likewise pummeled from above, holding a gigantic radish, shrugged her shoulders and said:

"At least they were soft..."


No employee of the store seemed interested in my plight, so in a wonderful deluge of embarrassment I gathered up the four thousand rolls of toilet paper, gently stacked them back in their cartons and put them up on tiptoe back in their aeirie, where they could again survey the land of broccoli and lettuce.

I was the lucky recipient of a corrugated cardboard paper cut on my knuckle for the trouble.

Dashing home, I had some time with Tigger before yoga, in the span of which, our wonderful Gojira laid a trail of urine across the kitchen floor.  He does this while walking, and I dare say that if it had been a straight line, instead of his trademark swaying zigzag it would have been a good twenty-plus feet.

We discovered we were pretty much out of paper towels.

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