Toilet paper always comes to the rescue…even in a fashion emergency.
Today, I had my annual appointment with the eye doctor. He has curly blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, and looks like he’s 12. Naturally, I want to make an effort to NOT look like I just rolled out of bed on my day off, so I took some time to look my best. I took time to wash the crust from my eyelashes and to brush my teeth. I touched up the curls leftover from yesterday braided updo and slathered on a liberal amount of antiperspirant. Finally, I carefully chose nice but modest clothing that flattered my figure: black pants, brown boots, red knit top. I’m not a creep…I just want to look better than this!
I arrived early for my appointment, slipped off my coat and sat down. As I sat down, I folded my coat in front of me and glanced down at my lap. And froze. I was staring at my own belly button.
You see, my top…my beautiful red knit top, has a band of battenburg lace running in a 2″ vertical stripe down the front…and I had forgotten to put on a camisole. My eyes swept upwards from my stark, lily white stomach to my flesh-coloured bra with…gasp…my ample bosom spilling out the top toward a perfect “y” – my cleavage. I clutched my coat to my chest, feeling a warmth spreading up my neck and engulfing my cheeks in flames.
I started to panic. I didn’t have a scarf. Could I borrow one from the receptionist? No, she wasn’t wearing one either. Wear my coat the whole time? No, I was already melting into my plastic seat. Then the assistant called my name and my heart leaped into my chest.
Problems are like toilet paper. You pull on one and ten more come. – Woody Allen
“Maybe”, I reasoned, “maybe it’s not as obvious as I think it is”. So I followed the assistant into the other room for the initial tests. Once seated and facing a mirror, I realized it wasn’t as bad as I thought. It was worse. Much worse! All I wanted to do was look nice for my appointment with the nice young doctor, not pimp myself out like a cougar!
I fled from the little room to the bathroom, so I could hyperventilate in private. Since I was already there, I decided I might as well use the facilities before I confessed my fashion faux pas and clutched my Harry Potter book to my chest for the next hour.
And then I looked up…Toilet paper! If I could stretch one strip of toilet paper across my cleavage, secured by my bra cups…and if I could then stretch a long strip down the vertical stripe, and secure it between my bra and my pants, would it provide sufficient coverage to reinstate my dignity?
Yes! Yes it can! And that my friends, is how I roll!
Make your life be like toilet paper. Long and useful.
– Wolfgang Riebe, 100 Quotes to Make You Think