I'm ashamed to admit that The Boy and I went without toilet paper in our house for a full four days. Since you won't believe me if I lie and tell you that I simply didn't use our facilities during that time, I'll go ahead and admit the truth. We brought a roll of paper towels into the bathroom. This, of course, is damnable, but I promise you that I used the paper towels minimally.
Finally, a couple of days ago, I found a package of toilet paper rolls on my bed; even though it was my turn to buy, The Boy had bought toilet paper.
He also bought soap. It was definitely not his turn to buy soap, and I'm not sure that I'll ever allow it to be his turn to buy soap again.
This morning I stepped into the shower to find a brand new, vibrantly green bar of Irish Spring. You must know that using Irish Spring soap in the shower is not anything like bathing in an actual Irish spring. It is more like bathing with several elderly leprechauns in a steamy vat of cheap aftershave. It is now pretty much guaranteed that I won't get a boyfriend until we use up all the soap (which, since The Boy was kind enough to buy an economy-size package, will be a long, long time) since single men will all assume that I have a boyfriend who's either very small and green, or very old. Or both.
13 comments:
So basically, you're dating Yoda?
I am sad to admit that for years I bought and used Irish Spring, since that was the only thing my parents ever bought while I was growing up. Then I got married, Master Fob complained about my choice of cleansers, and we had to buy a less fragrant soap. We are all much happier now.
At least it wasn't Old Spice...
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I don't mind the smell, but nothing dries me up like Irish Spring.
In fact, it's the years of harsh Irish Spring use that have turned me into the small, green, leathery man I am today.
My in-laws use Irish Spring in their bathroom, and every time I use their facilities (they usually do have TP), I end up retching every time I wash my hands, and for the entire day after that, since the scent clings like no one's business. I finally got smart and started taking my own soap to St. George. Now everyone is happy.
I've never understood that commercial from the 70s where the woman is standing on the heather saying, "And I like it tew!" She's nuts. And don't say it's because she's Irish. I have a good deal of Irish in me, and I can say, unequivocally, that it stinks!
So Cicada is dating Yoda, who is th?
Maybe this proves how ancient I really am, but does anyone else remember the commercials for Irish Spring? That guy with the Irish accent on a green knoll, and he takes this paring knife and slices into a bar of I.S. like it's cheese or something? I remember being baffled by that. I think it would baffle any 4 year-old.
And the whistling, mary, OH! The whistling...
For the record, at Brick House we'd run out of toilet paper, then out of paper towels, then use up all the paper towels we could steal (literally) from next door, and then move on to newspapers and those envelopes of pseudo-coupons that come in the mail.
I've had a lot of practice for living in a hut in the wild.
Toilet paper . . . Don't you know that's what McDonald's is for?
(Not me, really, it was all my older--now married and settled down--sister!)
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Who is this brinestone and where does (s)he get his information?
(ps: Cicada--you need to talk to word verification--it's giving me your real name)
Brinestone is squirrel boy's wife, Cicada's ex-coworker, and a pregnant earth mama. Who is th?
As for where I get my info, it's elementary, my dear Watson.
Hello to both Brinestone and Th. I don't really understand what either of you is talking about, but feel free to continue your conversation on my blog. As far as I'm aware, you don't know each other.
I'm dating neither Yoda nor Th. nor any other green, leathery man. In fact, I am not dating anyone and as I mentioned, I won't be dating anyone as long as I continue to bathe with Irish Spring.
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