I am not the first man to be caught with his pants down. On the loo I mean, without toilet paper.
It happened to me the other day and the problem was compounded because I was using the outside loo. We are a two toilet family, we have two loo’s (servants you see: maids . . . gardeners . . . children. . .) and if we have guests over, as a courtesy I use the slaves loo when I number two.
The enormity of my predicament only materialised during the final ‘knyp’ as I was arching my back to apply the cigar-cutter technique to clip off the end bit. My eyes widened as I spied the almost empty loo roll. I am a good old South African meat eater: five squares would never do it!
Typically, I had left my cell phone inside. No phoning the wife for emergency back-up. I would have to make do with what I had. Square by square I gave it a go. Shit, I was about 146 sheets short.
There was nothing for it but to slip into the house unnoticed; make a beeline for the inside loo and finish what I had started.
This involved a John Cleese funny walk. To reduce friction (and smearing) the only way to move is to hop on your left leg while keeping the right one out at an angle. Friction is the enemy here (and the Godfather of the Dinkleberry if you must know-- you do not want any of those).
Well, I got inside without a hitch. Got right inside the inner sanctum and closed the door. Whew!
But alas, the paint was dry! A crust had formed.
I suppose my kids will miss that old Mickey Mouse face cloth, but I was able to walk out with my head held high. Mr Bean could not have done it better.
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