My husband and I watched the show.  A comedian talked about how his wife complained, nagged, that he never put a new roll of toilet paper in the holder, how women should be the ones to refill the toilet paper holder anyway because they were the ones who used most of the paper.  He said, "My wife...," as the mimed holding a roll of toilet paper in one hand while his other hand made large circles around the imaginary toilet paper roll, swaddling his hand in layer after layer of the imaginary paper.  Everyone laughed.  It's kinda true, he told it funny, I laughed.  My husband looked at me and laughed.  It was funny, but my husband looked at me and laughed.  That was personal.

Each morning my husband showers and shampoos his hair.  The morning after the comedian's show, I waited until the shower curtain was closed and the water was running in the tub before I entered the bathroom.  I removed the towel from the towel bar by the foot of the tub and tossed the towel onto the counter by the sink.  I got a roll of toilet paper from the cabinet and sat on the nearest "stool" to wait.  I listened to my husband soaping his body.  I have watched his routine, pleasurably, many times.  I know his routine by heart, the way he meticulously, industriously, lathers every square inch of his body, which always makes me wonder, "How much can he get on his body, under a suit, in an office all day long?"  Sometimes he uses the same bar of soap to lather his head and hair, too.  This day, his hand snaked around the side of the shower curtain and snagged the shampoo bottle, then the same hand returned the bottle to the corner of the tub, then snugged the shower curtain against the wet tiles. 

In a few moments, I heard the water being turned off.  I rose from my seat as the shower curtain was ripped aside.  His eyes shut, one of his hands sluiced water back from his forehead while his other hand fumbled for his towel, usually on the towel bar.  I said, "Can't find your towel?" 

He opened one eye and said, "Huun-nee...."  I could hear the rising plaint of his voice as he said the word, a recurring theme tune in our relationship.  It was amazing how many things he could convey with that one word.  This time it meant, "I don't have time to play, you've interrupted my routine, I've got to go to work."  And "they" say men can't communicate!

I took a step backward and said, "Let me help you."  With two fingers of one of my hands stuffed into the end of the roll of toilet paper, I grasped the end of the toilet paper with my other hand and made the same exaggerated circles around the toilet paper roll as the comedian had made, wrapping layer after layer of toilet paper around my hand.  I tore the end of the paper from the toilet paper roll and thrust the huge wad of paper at my husband, saying, "Here, dry your hair."

I waited until his slow, wry grin started across his face as he remembered the last night's show and the comedian, as he realized why I was doing this.  I propped the roll of toilet paper on the towel bar, reached around him to give him a pat on his fanny, then marched out of the bathroom.

There's "funny," and then there's "personal".

--Granma
© Effinm 2000