TP On A Roll

Mr. Stinky and I recently attended a wedding for a few friends. It was lovely, namely because it was short and simple. It might be age, but now that I've been to a few and had my own, weddings have become kind of boring. Why doesn't anyone cartwheel down the aisle to "Highway to Hell"? Or release the doves (and a few hungry hawks!) inside the church so everyone's gotta dodge the screaming terror and hot, clumpy white-out bombs as the priest gives his exaltations, admonitions or whatever. It's always the same elaborate monkey show that is more according to the parents' demands than it is of the bride and groom's. On that note, even though I don't want to be one, I'm sure when it's my kids' turns to get married I'll be just as monsteriffic.

Anyway, it was a smaller wedding but we know I'm not here to talk about them. The story of the night belongs to me. It's all about me. Me, me, me.

I went to the washroom and a sweet Golden Girl... she looked like the short, little one entered as I was done and about to leave. She went into a stall and promptly came back out to tell me that it was out of toilet paper. I said OK, maybe she just wanted to let me know because nothing induces panic faster than realizing you're stuck without something to wipe. You sit and wonder if you can shake things off, if you'll have to wait for someone else to come in so that you can ask her to hand you a wad under the walls but then maybe no one needs to go so you could end up sitting on the can for way too long and raise peoples' suspicions that you had to take a dump and then you remember the little bit of tissue you have in your purse but of all the nights, this was the one time you left it in the care of your boyfriend or husband so you wouldn't have to wrangle peeing and holding on to it at the same time and so after about 5 minutes of thinking how you're going to Macgyer yourself out of this situation you just pull up your pants all the while wincing and hope someone doesn't come into the washroom and walk into your stall, realizing that you didn't wipe.

So I stood there and she became perplexed. Gesturing into the stall Golden Girl asked "Well aren't (pronounced ARE-ent) you going (GO-ingk) to change it?" My answer, full of elegance was a just as confused "Wha?" Apparently she thought that I worked for the restaurant and thus was responsible for supplying her cubicle with a fresh roll of 1-ply. Once I corrected her she became quite contrite and embarrassed. I graciously let her off the hook and returned to my table with a juicy story for everyone. Our table burst into laughter and before long everyone around knew what had happened and came by to ask me to check on the situation in the men's room. I also received quite a few apologies from the bride and groom but I'm not one to be offended, if anything I felt badly for the Golden Girl who would now be known for confusing the lone Asian guest dressed in a hot, cleavage baring top and stiletto heels as hired help.

Only if you slip a nice, crisp bill in my thong, baby!

Was she racist? Maybe, I don't know. Not used to the changing times? More likely. We both became part of the joke everyone will remember but for very different reasons.