And the beat goes on

For those of you that are a bit uncomfortable with bathroom humor, you may want to skip this post. But won't you please come back tomorrow?

I have been married to Scotland for almost ten months now. And in that ten months, I always tried to maintain that air of womanly mystery to keep my darling husband interested. You know what I am talking about, right? Always keep him wondering about the woman behind the eyes, what is she thinking, what is inside her, what drives her, etc. But somedays, the mystery takes a backseat to the need. Or the craziness. Sometimes that takes over too.

Anyway, I was attempting to nurture that mysterious persona one day with my non committal answers and my vague replies, when my plan backfired. After giving my husband "smoky eyes" and not answering several of his inquiries, I gave him a quixotic smile and then disappeared into the bathroom to let him simmer. After a moment of gloating over my victory with him, I glanced to the right and noticed the empty brown roll. I checked under the sink for an extra roll, and found just an empty sack.

Lovely. The only extra rolls of toilet paper are in the basement.

I opened the door just slightly, and peaked out to see if the coast was clear. Scotland was just down the hall, using his laptop in our bedroom.

I debated whether or not I should ask him for help. After all, then he would know that I actually *gasp* use toilet paper. Or worse, he would assume that I actually go #2! But if I crept out of the bathroom and down the hall, he might see my pantsless self dashing down to the basement. And then he would know that I am clinically insane.

I was horrified.

Either way, I was in trouble. Either way, I would lose that mystery, that draw, and the reason for Scotland to be inexplicably in love with me. It was hopeless.

I stayed there for a good five or ten minutes, contemplating which would be the lesser of the two evils. And all the while, I am sure he was wondering what plague had infected me so badly that I had holed up in the tiny bathroom for relief from it.

Can you guess what I did?

Either way, it doesn't really matter, because what I realized is with a blog like this, most especially with a post like this, I have already lost that air of mystery. I have already confirmed to him that I go #2, that I consider running to the basement pantsless rather than asking for help and countless other (horrifying) things. He already knows that sometimes I drool when I sleep, and my feet stink occasionally, and that sometimes I am really just plain lazy. And he still loves me for it. Or in spite of it. Either way.

And just so I don't look like the only one with all of these faults, I would like to announce that he is a sleep-farter. But I love him still.

I rest my case.