Wednesday, November 4, 2009

To quote Britney Spears.

"Oops. I did it again." Step one. I admit I can't control my addiction to excessive amounts of toilet paper. I also have a fondness for tissue and paper towels. Oh, and plastic bags. Liquid hand soap. Dish soap. Vinegar. And bleach. Just never together. Grapefruits. Magazines. Always from the middle; never from the front. Lipstick. Garbageless garbage cans. Champagne. Gloves. End of steps. I don't want to lead a new life with a new code of behavior. And the only sponsor I want is Bounty. Or Glad. Does anyone remember the name of the radical who suggested using only one square of paper per visit to the basin? I love the planet to a point. Seriously, that presents an entirely separate set of problems. Namely, sticky fingers. Public stall handles are tragic enough.

I prefer to hide from my mistakes. Which is exactly what I did when the plumbing engineer came to resuscitate the toilet in my room at the Mercer Hotel. I hid in the courtyard of my scrumptious suite for one minute and thirty-five seconds. The time it took him to make the world right again and me to pose for a photo. I never said I was proud of my habit. Shameful. I know. I promise to never quote Britney again. Miss.

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