I Hate Me, part 217,002
Today’s blog was gonna be about the plastic wrapping from Charmin toilet paper. I tore it off of a package of it we got at work. It says on big letters on it “For a Clean You Can Feel” or something along those lines. My angle was going to be that most toilet paper should give you a “clean you can feel”, blah,blah,blah. Yeah, it was a thin premise at best. Now, when my wife walks the tiny terror she never (or almost never) brings a bag or something to clean up with and I’m always giving her grief about it, I usually come off like a self-righteous asshole (“it’s a sign of the collapse of society!”, “we’re bad neighbors”, etc). So this morning, I was walking the dog and I realized I didn’t bring a bag with me. I was hoping that Lucy would hold off until we got back to our yard, where I could clean it up later. “I will cook you a steak, if you don’t shit until we get home”, “I will let you destroy my favorite pen, chew up all of Carrie’s flip-flops, just hold off. ”We got close to home, I could see my house. She looked at me with the dog equivalent of “Hey, fuck you” and went on my neighbors driveway. All I had in my pockets were a bunch of old ATM receipts and the plastic wrapping from the Charmin package. It actually worked out ok, all things considered.