Running out of toilet paper sucks…
Running out of toilet paper sucks more than running out of diapers.
It sucks more than running out of milk or bread or coffee or (dare I say it?) vodka.
You know what sucks more than running out of toilet paper though? Running out of toilet paper AND paper towels AND tissue paper AND coffee filters AND anything remotely soft enough to handle my business without leaving behind a nasty paper cut or twelve.
Death, despair, pestilence, chaos and destruction… Pshaw.
This, dear reader, is what we call a true tragedy.
And to make it all more Shakespearean-like, my healthy supply of drive-thru supplied napkins are in the console of my truck – MY TRUCK which is with HIM because HE likes it more than HIS truck, which I incidentally cannot use due to my ability to properly drive a stick (much like my great ass and calculus skills) going out the window at the onset of ‘mommy brain’. His truck, of course, has no supply of drive-thru napkins because he has no ‘mommy brain’.
He has ‘daddy brain’.
Which means that I’d probably only find lots of empty Redbull cans and old porn. *
And wiping my hoohoo with either just seems uncomfortable and highly dirty.
So I guess it’s just me and this pack of anti-bacterial wipes that smell awfully like formaldehyde-flavored lemons.. Which I’m fairly certain will take that not-so-fresh-feeling to a whole new level of goddamnmylifesucks.
Wish me luck…
*Yes, the statement about the daddy brain leading to Redbull and porn was totally sexist… but you totally deserved it after snickering about me and my inability to drive a stick, and you know it.
** Oh! And did ‘ya miss me?