The Columbia City Alehouse fronts Rainier Avenue in Seattle and hosts the best happy hour specials in our old neighborhood. It was no surprise when an invitation was extended for a light dinner over a pint, or two; besides we were forming a weekly dependence upon chicken quesadillas and Mac and Jacks ale. A cheap early dinner out-of-the-way and a walk with the dogs filled many of our summer evenings last year. This particular evening promised to be just as ordinary as any other.
“Honey, I know that we’ve been living together for a few months now and I just wanted to tell you that living with you is exactly what I expected it to be.” she said.
“Uh yeah! Me too.” I stuttered. I floundered a little, not quite sure where this was going so I stalled “Exactly what I expected.”
“So, I have this question. It’s important, and I don’t know how to broach the subject.” she explained.
“Not another tour. Christ! We just finished touring Alberta, not another one so soon. We just got home. ” I thought, but what I said was “What do you need, want, desire? You know you can say anything to me. ”
“I was just wondering…uh…I’m not sure how to say this”
“Are you attached to your toilet paper?”
Think fast! Was she trying to tell me something? Like wipe away from the rigging, or the paper sticks to everything. Oh no. Bad juju!
Get clarification pronto! “What?”
“It’s just that the current brand isn’t soft, or particularly strong. Actually honey, it’s cheap and feels like sand paper. Can we buy something a little nicer? ”
I breathed a sigh of relief, “That’s the important question? Nicer Toilet paper?” and promised that after dinner we’d go to QFC and get whatever she wanted.
We visited 4 stores that night; it seems that strong soft toilet paper isn’t a readily available commodity in Seattle. She ultimately resorted to buying our stash from Vancouver, and smuggling it over the border every few weeks.
Note: after more than a year. I’m back to the same Angel Soft TP as before. She hasn’t noticed the difference….yet.