What's worse than over eating on Thanksgiving?
You have gorged yourself on three helpings of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, squash and all the other trimmings. You have already unsnapped your pants and loosened your belt two or three notches. You have taken up station on the couch for some football. You have performed the act of remoting, the station and volume set. Your upright posture has given way to a more comfortable angle for optimum viewing. You were thinking "It doesn't get any better than this!"
Now, how can over eating on Thanksgiving be bad?
One thing comes to mind. In Accounting, they sometimes use the FIFO method. First In First Out means that the first order in is the first to be processed. So it is with the food we ingest. You remember that your last meal yesterday consisted of three chili dogs and a dish of nachos. They had decided to overstay their welcome as it was. Something has got to give!
With your nap interrupted by that primal call of the wild, you are driven to seek a haven where you can purge your system. In that Fortress of Solitude, you contemplate the desserts that have been gathering at the table where once the main entrees had resided. You are salivating thinking of those culinary delights awaiting to tickle your palate. The involuntary processes are at play as you patiently rule that domain from your throne.
What's worse than over eating on Thanksgiving? To your horror, you discover there is something! You have discovered too late there is no toilet paper on the roll! Anxiety begins to set in as you helplessly look around for a spare roll. There is none to be found! I am talking emergency here! There is that ray of hope that springs eternal as you reach for the waste bucket. There must be some discarded tissues or pieces of paper. There is none! Someone must have emptied the bucket. You curse their efficiency. For a fleeting moment your eyes fall upon the clean face cloth and towels hanging by the sink. Wisely, you decide that is not a viable option.
To bide time, you try flexing and unflexing certain muscles in hopes of calling forth more output. Perhaps a second wave might be cleaner? You admonish yourself for thinking of such a stupid idea. Your eyes suddenly widen as if you had made a monumental discovery that would benefit all of mankind. You have just had an epiphany. There should be some magazines in there somewhere. Most desirable would be a section from a newspaper, as it has more absorbent properties and is more malleable. A page from a Readers Digest would work, not the shiny pages, but one or two of the pulp ones. Once again your hopes are dashed. There is not a single magazine to be had. What kind of library is it that has no reading material, you think.
The dilemma you are facing is worsened by the fact that you are not in your own home. This is not your throne room. If you were at home, it would be an easy obstacle to overcome. You would simply hike your pants up partway and then penguin waddle out of the bathroom. You could even grab a napkin from the table if you wanted. You could make a beeline for the nearest box of facial tissue. Kleenex! You grapple behind you, there must be something serviceable on top of the tank lid! Once again you strike out, for save a couple of hair brushes, nothing is there. Nah! There is no way you are going to consider one of those brushes.
You are starting to wonder how long you have been taking up residence in your hosts' toilet. It wouldn't be long before they sent out a search party, or worse yet, someone else would want to use the facilities. Desperation is beginning to set in. Once again you are considering the face cloth. Your business had been finished for several minutes. Hardly a piece of artwork is it that you have left, but even artists have to clean up after their masterpieces have been completed. The aroma, which has become increasingly unpleasant, has began wafting around the small confines in which you are imprisoned.
You are about to resort to the Final Option. You will have to pull up your underpants and give yourself a wedgie before pulling up your outer pants. You are committed and start to rise, when there is a knock at the door. It must be an advance scout for the main body of the search party. "Just a minute. I'll be right out. Sorry," You manage to reply.
The voice on the other side announces, "I just realized that we forgot to replace the toilet paper in there." A second load has been removed, this time from your shoulders. You respond as if in surprise, "Oh? Oh yes, I see. I didn't notice there wasn't any. I wasn't ready for it yet." Whether he believed you or not wasn't important. You release a sigh of gratitude as he says, "I'll set it on the floor next to the door. You can reach out for it."
Although you had received salvation, you think about the not so pleasant bouquet that will invade the next person's olfactory senses when they enter that bathroom. Aha, sure enough there is a can of air freshener on a shelf. Dumbfounded, you stare at the rectangular container next to the spray. It is a full box of facial tissues. It had been there all the time, out of your direct line of sight, but there just the same. Your ordeal is almost over as your start to use the air freshener - nothing happens! The damn thing is empty! You do the only thing you know, you stroll out leaving the door slightly ajar. With a little luck, it will have all dissipated by the time another visitor enters.
Now it is time for your just desserts. You have successfully managed to create quite a vacancy. It wouldn't be long before Mr. Apple Pie and his friend Ala Mode would be checking out the accommodations.
The moral of the story: On Thanksgiving Day eat all you want, but always remember to first check the dispenser for toilet paper!