Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Secret Sisterhood of The Traveling Toilet Paper

"She will henceforth be known as Sister Charmin."
Afternoon Readers,

     They say that no man is an island, but nothing makes me feel more islandy than being stranded on the toilet. Several days ago, an unfortunate occurrence found me staring at the wall, feeling around the cabinet and bathtub for a lone roll that would be my deliverance. As I heard Butch and Sundance open the dishwasher downstairs, I knew the situation required urgency. If it hadn't been for the rogue paper towels I found, this post would be echoing from the john, my spirit never to return. I questioned why this had happened, until I remembered the Sisterhood...
     The day I stood on the alter and said, "I do", a funny thing happened. From nowhere, a group of robed individuals sprang out of nowhere, threw a bag over my head and dragged me to an unknown location. Bag removed, I found myself in a room full of women with frowns on their faces.

     A rather gangly woman approached me and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Do you know why you're here?"

     "I won the honeymoon cruise to Boca?"

     "What? No, you didn't enter enough times for that. We're the Sisterhood of The Traveling Toilet Paper. And it's time for your initiation." With a thud, she dropped a giant book at my feet.

     "What's that?"

     She rolled her eyes. "Them's the rules."

     I let out a sigh of relief. "Finally, someone who wants to teach me how to play Risk. That game is so - "

     "Not Risk. Inside this sacred book is the code every woman must live by. Now, open to page one."

     I opened the book. "Copywrite Penguin 1914 ...."

     "Not that...the Vows."

     Turning to the text in bold, I read:

Vow of The Sisterhood of The Traveling Toilet Paper 

I (insert name here) have just gotten married. As such, the man and children I will be living with will not know how to replace a roll of toilet paper at any time. If there is one roll left, I will not be warned unless I discover said fact on my own. It will be my sacred duty (no pun intended) to keep watch over the supply and never let it run low, lest I be banished to the Bowl of Solitude for the rest of my days....or until someone hears my cries for help and brings me some....or I remember to bring my cell phone to the bathroom and can call my mother.

      After reading the vow, aloud, the gangly woman gave me a pat on the head and sent me on my way. So, as I was stuck in the bathroom, I had to recall my sacred promise, fend for myself, and call my mother to bring me more toilet paper.

....and so it was written.

Who re-fills the toilet paper in your house?

Until next Time, Readers!