The Tale of the Hoighty Toighty Doctor and the Roll of Toilet Paper!

I have had a pretty bad day.  It happens.  Not every day can be a rainbow of sunshine unless you are one of those bloody perky care bears where rainbows spew out of every orifice of your body.  I wonder if they eat rainbow skittles and that’s their secret. (*pause for reflection*). 

Okay that's a few brain cells I won’t ever get back.

Anywhooo, as I was saying, this day has kind of sucked and my face has been in a perpetual state of bright lollipop red from how upset I am, which will disperse in a few hours once I relax a bit.  But you know, nothing irks this girl more than a certain hoighty toighty doctor who works down below me.

A gynaecologist who thinks her *ahem ahem* does not stink, she spends a ridiculous amount of time standing in the one bathroom we share primming herself daily.  She neither smiles or has the courtesy of acknowledging me when our paths sometimes cross.  Being neither a fashionista of her caliber (or wealth) or a woman with a med degree, I am deemed insignificant in her eyes and she makes no bones about it.  Fortunately for me, this rarely bothers me because I am well versed in the ability to give little Miss Hoighty Toighty Snug Panties a significant snub back, when I deem those moments necessary.  However, today she irked me to a level that saw my already fluorescent face seeing red.

As you know, using the bathroom is an absolute ordeal for me as I have to transfer my lines to my sister office, put a sign on the door and lock it, run down a long hallway, and down a flight of stairs that eventually leads to the bathroom we share. After sitting on the bottom of the stairs, crossing my legs and praying that the Pee Fairy would hold off and bother some non toilet trained 2 year old, I found that I was waiting an inordinate amount of time for her Royal Hine-ass to finish her beauty regimen in the bathroom. When she finally emerged, she gave me a disgusted look and proceeded to walk past me with that bit of limp she has from that unfortunate stick infliction that seems to be permanently inserted up her scrawny, boney bottom.  As I ran, okay sprinted into the bathroom, I realized that the Mz. Queen Bee used the last of the toilet paper and did not bother to replace it.  Apparently, performing a hysterectomy is a significantly easier task than actually putting a role of toilet paper in the toilet paper dispenser. 

Two things crossed my mind at that moment: first I visualized tackling her and cramming that toilet paper where the sun won’t shine, except that it would be fighting for space due to that already pre-existing stick condition she has, and secondly, I fantasized about beating her over her head with a role of the generic, take the skin off your bottom, single ply toilet paper that our landlord has the courtesy of providing to us, rendering her quaffed hair into a big pile of toilet paper lint.

Since my bladder did not seem to have the time to wait for either of those options, I decided to say at the top of my lungs: “Really, they didn’t teach you at medical school how to put toilet paper on the toilet holder. Boy I think I would have asked for a refund!” Followed by “you freaking lazy woman!”  And as I went to close the bathroom door, I caught the look on her face.  And guess what, apparently I wasn’t the only one sporting a red face today!  HA!

Until Next Time.
Tracy