As befits a lady, especially one who is one’s partner in life, she comes first, or in this case goes first. It is the morning ritual to which I refer, a ritual that since it is controlled by nature, is not guaranteed to be first thing in the morning, or even every morning or later in the day……….or even any particular day for that matter. For the sake of one’s health and the comfortable ambiance of those that closely surround one, be they partner or friends, it is hoped however that the ritual occurs with a frequency that reflects and has some connection with the magnitude of the input that generates it.
Because of the nature of said ritual in our allegedly civilized but pitiful politically correct world, it becomes necessary, or at least it behooves one to use an appropriate set of descriptive words and linguistic idioms, not to speak of subtly phrased verbs such that the ritual and any related offences are minimized and offenders are accordingly spared any major embarrassment.
Thus have developed the terms “throne”, “dump”, “can”, “crapola”, “the library”, “gone to lighten up”, “see you lighter”, “blowin’ in the wind (thank you Bob Dylan) and perhaps other idioms less well known.
There are limits however to the civilities that can be extended to major infringements of standard courtesies “ass”ociated with this particular ritual.
Thus it was that my ascension to the throne this particular morning occurred in a sequence synonymous with queen and her consort. I came second……..or in this case went second. Suitably relieved I reached for the material that would appropriately terminate the ritual in a suitably cleansing fashion. To my dismay and horror however, I discovered, like a cross country skier caught in a steep downhill precipice, I had been wiped out as it were.
The roll was nearly as bare as my butt! There but remained in mocking fashion a tiny remnant of paper flapping like half a flag at half-mast, mourning as it were my morning to this point.
Horror struck, I pondered my alternatives. Was it to be a Neanderthal-like wipe with the left hand, eat with the right? Should I dial 911 and ask for a fire hose to be sent? Do I call Rolaids and ask if they have a roll-aid? Where are Handy Wipes when you really need them?............but not with Clorox or “Scrubs In-A-Bucket”!
But then I spied my salvation. Unfortunately it was on top of a cabinet on the other side of the bathroom, and seemingly miles away from reach. Behind me on the tank top was a box of facial tissues, too fragile, thin and thus essentially useless in directly effecting the process in much more than a variation of the Neanderthal ritual. Fortunately however, the box was nearly full with its contained 200 individual tissues. Assiduously clutching most of them, I stuffed them in the appropriate cavity and lurched across the bathroom, carefully reaching up for the new roll in a manner that did not endanger the loss of the facial tissue from its lodgment in what might be considered by some as the essence of my personality………….or the horse’s ass if you prefer.
A full roll suitably installed and the ritual subsequently terminated in the standard cleansing fashion, I confronted my queen in a less than consort manner. While she expressed horror at the omission of replacement, I did not fail to see it espoused behind a hand that barely hid the grin and with an enunciation that barely covered the giggle.
Thus was the ass end of my brief ass scent to sovereignty dethroned.