It’s a lovely thing, especially mine because it has a gorgeous lavender scent which permeates the bathroom and beyond.
I got to thinking this morning about what people used before Joseph C. Gayetty invented TP in 1857 (a product that has his name imprinted on every square…the man was obviously clever, but with ideas that were not so well thought-out). I was pondering the nice plant we found in Virginia Waters with undersides to every leaf that rivaled that of a sheep or Malden Mills best polar fleece for softness. Although, I couldn’t imagine that sort of luxury would be available regularly when you would need to do your business out in the woods. An then there would be the unlucky soul that managed to pick the prickly, or even worse, itch-generating leaf. Really, with encouragement like that, it’s amazing the first bog paper didn’t come about until 1857 IMHO. And then there are other pleasant thoughts along those lines…Northern Tissue advertised “splinter-free” TP in1935, insinuating that there was (cheaper) take-your-chances, splinter-infested toilet paper available. Mmmm…that’s a treat, “No wood fragments up the bum today, Mom!”
Of course all these ponderings were sponsored by this book, in which young orphans were so maltreated and neglected that they used their hands to clean their bums and then wiped their soiled hands on the walls….
Now go on, what invention do you particularly fancy, then?
Three nights ago, it was the "tupperware party" that involved lingerie and dildos. I won a whip, and won a contest involving licking out the white cream from a chocolate egg held between another lady's knees (whom I had never met before). It was a laugh.
Sometimes I wonder how I manage to keep my friends. Whilst describing our intentions to visit Paris in the near future to one of my friends back in Connecticut, I included how I was luring my 5-year-old into getting excited by telling her that we were going to visit where Madeline came from. Madeline-the little French cartoon girl-"In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines lived 12 little girls in 2 straight lines, the youngst of which was Madeline." Only, on this particular day, what slipped out of my mouth was "12 straight girls...." to my lesbian friend. Of course, my embarrassment caused me to repeat the phrase a couple of times whilst I fumbled to right the situation. She was patient.
And then there's my blog friends, whom I have become desparately sporatic with. Despite our friendships initiated from flickering screens and one-sided conversations, from our flimsy beginnings strong bonds have been foraged. They are patient too.
And finally, my long-time friends, whom I miss quite dearly. But, they too are patient and know that they are in my thoughts, even if I have not called in ages.
All this, born from reading another book, loaned from my new friend; part of a genre I consider "perspective reading." It's sort of a morbid St. Patrick's Day celebration (the Irish, my ancestors would not be proud: "where is my drink?"); a memoir of the the disturbing childhood of Kathleen O'Malley, set in Dublin, 1950. The traumatic events, but even more the appreciation of a tasty bit of bacon, a velvet-collared coat, hair ribbons, or the way your Mom curled your hair gently and told you you're beautiful....how can we not appreciate our lives and what we have? So cheers to my friends; you mean everything to me.
I'd like to say it was the three rum-and-cokes or the pot-haze or heavy pounding in my ears....but really there's no excuse for the muddled response I had to meeting Cate Blanchett at the Nine Inch Nails concert last night. While being jostled by the crowd, I murmured, "She's famous" to my Sweetheart, apparently not too far away from Cate. She turned around and asked me, "What?" And me? I was dumbfounded. I was quiet for a few moments....just long enough for a throng of black-enrobed, pierced, colored and spiked-hair concert-goers to shove themselves in between us as they struggled to arrive at the exit. And then she was gone from view, likely on the streets of London, not on her way to the tube, like me. I was left mumbling about Elizabeth the I, the elf-queen in the Lord of the Rongs, and the witch in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe-and my favorite of all-the seer in The Gift.
What should I have said? Should I have sung my praises of her acting skills, tripping over myself to express just how moved I had been by her films? Ranted on about how she's been my favorite actress for several years gone? I think, had I been in a clear state of mind, I would have asked her what she thought of the concert.