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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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December 2006 / January 2007 Contest Results |
The
Toilet Paper Conspiracy
By Laurie Fabrizio,
Minnesota
You’re a busy mom, craving two minutes of peace, in the only room in
the house where it is possible... the bathroom. Closing the door you sigh,
disgusted because your life has come to this. The dog flops down in
front of the door whining, but you are determined to ignore it. No one
better spoil theses few precious moments of sanctity.
The bubble bursts as you glance at the paper holder discovering that the
toilet paper is missing. You are once again stranded, evil thoughts
coursing through your brain as you try to figure out who the culprit is.
Naturally, the tissue box on the back of the tank is empty from the last
plague that spread rampantly through the house. Out of desperation, you
pull used crumpled tissues out of the waste basket, wondering if it is
justifiable homicide if you murder the offender.
I sat there one day, an apparent victim of the “Toilet Paper Bandit” and
found myself screeching “Stranded, stranded on the toilet bowl, what to
do when there’s nothing on the roll?” One would expect an immediate
reaction since I sounded like William Hung singing “Shabang Shabang.”
As usual, there was no response from any family member. The dog was now
jumping around, thinking I was playing. Out of frustration, she suddenly
butted the door open enough so that she could join me. I tossed her the
empty roll, hoping she’d shed it and leave a paper trail for the family
to follow. It might take days, since they never seem to notice trash on
the floor unless it is edible.
Out of desperation I yelled,
“Speak, Maggie. Speak.”
Nothing but dead silence. To add insult to injury, she began licking
herself as if to say ‘at least I never have to worry about being in your
predicament’.
“Cookie, Cookie... want to go in the car?” I was desperate to get her
attention.
Suddenly, she began barking like a Rottweiler on speed. Finally,
thinking it was an emergency, my daughter threw open the door exposing
me in all my glory. How humiliating. My only recourse was to respond by
ranting about the importance of replacing the roll, determined to expose
the offender. I pulled out all the stops... after all I was going to need
plastic surgery to remove the toilet seat rings from my butt.
The next morning I awoke to Mother Nature frantically calling my name. I
sprinted out of bed only to discover my husband was showering and had
locked the bathroom door. Frantically I raced down the hall to the guest
bath. Imagine my alarm at finding yet another roll missing in action.
My knees were now locked together and I was trying to avoid an accident
that would land me a spot on the next “Gotta go, gotta go right now”
commercial. I could always blame it on the dog.
Feeling helpless, I headed for the girl’s bathroom trying to erase the
images of the micro-organisms that had taken up residency since I last
insisted on cleaning their bath. Surprise... their roll was empty! I
checked the linen closet... empty! I didn’t even want to think about what
they had been using in the mean time.
On the verge of hysteria, I shimmied down the banister while trying to
remember those dreaded Kegal exercises, praying they worked better than
in child birth. I waddled into the powder room not even bothering to
close the door. To my amazement the roll I replaced last night was
shining like a beacon as if I had found the Holy Grail.
I now suffer from “Post Traumatic Stranded Disorder.” After weeks of
therapy I now proudly sport my own personal roll on a gold chain around
my neck. Who ever said I wasn’t a trendsetter?
www.fabrizios.net/laurie
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