There are very few barriers in my home. I pretty much have an open-door policy, and that includes leaving the door open when I’m in the bathroom. Not only does this allow the cat to attend to his human-watching duties without interference, but it also allows for fetishistic discourse and facilitates open communication. In the form of shouting at one’s spouse for all manner of assistance. Most commonly manifested as a bellow along the lines of, “I NEED TOILET PAPER!”
Which is exactly what I shouted this morning at approximately 11:27am. Having already sat down and “broke the seal” so to speak, I was rather . . . unfit . . . for fetching the required sanitary tissue-y accouterments myself.
Twelve seconds later, my husband was standing in front of me, holding an entire package (newly purchased, just $9.99!) of toilet paper and handing me a roll.
Then handing me another.
And reaching behind me to stack another roll . . . and another roll . . . and another and another and another, onto the back of my toilet.
Me: What are you doing?
Him: Supplying you with toilet paper.
Me: Well, STOP IT. I’m good. I only needed one roll.
Him: No, no. You definitely need a stack.
Him: Because you shout at me all the time for this.
Him: So I’m trying to put a stop to your runaway vagina.
My runaway. Vagina.
Um, I don’t even know where to start.
:: burying head in hands ::
So. How was your morning, hmmm?