Reigning on the porcelain throne and taking an early morning dump (which is not my usual gig, though it happens now and then to begin the day) I was lost in blissful non-thought when all of a sudden what sounded like an explosion and a shattering smash of glass sounded right behind me. It wasn’t coming from my butt so I knew it wasn’t me, but it took me several seconds to register what the hell had happened – so loud and startling was it.
I turned around and saw the shards of the candle that had fallen. It was one of those two-wick glass jar candles – heavy and thick and now shattered on the tile floor around the toilet (and decidedly not the cute little votive now pictured there). I shrugged, finished my business (once my heart settled down and I could concentrate on the business at hand, err, ass) and then realized that Mercury was in retrograde and this shit was going to be the norm for the next few weeks.
May God protect us all.
{This post has been brought to you mostly for those people who don’t think I have bowel movements. They’re usually the same ones who think I don’t drive, and live with a sugar daddy. It’s also here to shatter any remaining of vestiges of perfectionism to which I may unconsciously be clinging. Although Rabelais may argue that there is something perfect about taking a crap… Anyway, to those who have a hard time envisioning me defecating, I say scat.}
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