2180. The call of Nature

It was four in the morning. John lay awake in his cosy bed. He normally didn’t wake at that hour. He needed to go to the bathroom.

But the bed was cosy and warm.

I’ll go to the bathroom in a minute, he thought.

In a minute.

Just another minute.

He turned over. Who doesn’t know the call of Nature and the call of staying put in a cosy bed on a cold morning?

I’ll go to the bathroom in a minute.

In a minute.

Just another minute.

At last he could wait no longer. He rose.

One can’t know the future except in a story: John’s procrastination had given the thief enough time to leave the house. Sure, there were a few things missing from the kitchen, but at least he wasn’t murdered by a hit over the head with the frying pan – as initially intended.

1772. A close encounter

When the alien emerged from the cosmic transporter on my back lawn I honestly didn’t know where to look. It seemed to be all twiggy stems and long hanging seed pods; sort of like sea kelp on the end of a stick. It was hideous.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” it began. Sorry to bother me? I couldn’t imagine where the orifice was that was producing this dialogue. I couldn’t discern a face anywhere.

“I’m sorry to bother you but the facility in the cosmic transporter is blocked and I wondered if I could use your bathroom?”

Ah! There it was! A mouth that was moving. The words were definitely emanating from there. The alien seemed quite tall so I stood on tip-toe and addressed my answers towards the mouth. I couldn’t work out a nose or eyes or ears. Just this (really for the size of the alien) rather tiny mouth. No! There it was! A sort of nose that twitched a little, just above the mouth. And a couple of bumps on either side of the nose that I presumed were some sort of eyes. Or perhaps ears.

“You’d be most welcome,” I said. “The bathroom is just up those steps, across the porch, and to the immediate right as you step inside. You can’t miss it.” I tried to convey how welcome it was to use the bathroom by appearing friendly and speaking in an enthusiastic manner. It’s most disconcerting speaking to what looks like a pile of kelp. And so I smiled in a friendly way and addressed it directly close up to its face.

“You can’t miss it,” I repeated, whispering a little now in order to convey a certain confidence in the strange creature. I even managed to pat it in a non-condescending manner on the top of what I presumed was its head.

“Look!” said the alien, “I don’t mean to be rude but would you mind not staring so closely at my private parts.”

1765. Thanks for the poetry

Hi Harvey

Just a quick note to thank you for sending me your book of poetry. Congratulations on getting it published. I was very keen to read your poems as I didn’t until today realize that you wrote poetry. It tells me a lot more about you than I ever imagined.

The book arrived in the mail just as I was about to go to the bathroom. As I was so excited to begin to read it I took it to the bathroom with me and began to peruse your poems while “enthroned”.

The first thing I noticed, and this is a little critical, is that the cover is excellent, as is the print, but why, oh why, did it have to be printed on cheap newsprint? I suppose it’s fashionable to use recycled things, but personally I was distracted by it thinking that your poetry would most certainly deserve better.

Well, I started reading your poems thoughtfully and I guess I carefully read the first half dozen. Look, I don’t want to be negative about things, but quite honestly, the poems did nothing for me. I thought they were banal and simplistic. I’m telling you this not to be cruel and offensive, but because honesty is always the best route to take. How can one improve if one already thinks that one is the cat’s whiskers?

Heave ho! upon the briny deep,
Oh sailor man.
Wither doth the waves caress the shore.
Who could wish for more
In days of yore?

I can see why you had to get it self-published.

Anyway, thanks again for thinking of me and sending a free copy.

Regards
Maurice

P.S. Don’t you just hate it – like once every eleven years or so – when you’re in the bathroom and realize you’re out of toilet paper?

1581. Dopp kit, sponge bag, toilet bag

Half the problem of being a writer of international fame in the English-speaking world is the limitation placed on vocabulary. Merton wanted to write a story involving a sponge bag. But would the readers know that a sponge bag was the same as a toilet bag? Or what if, after searching online, he discovered that some people call it a Dopp kit?

Whatever it is called, Merton was determined to tell his story, so he called it a sponge bag, because that’s what he’d grown up knowing it as.

Kathryn’s family was rich. Well, not rich exactly, but comfortable. They never had to think more than twice before something was purchased. A replacement mattress for a queen-sized bed might be pricey but it was always affordable when such a thing was required. Kathryn was sent to a private school for girls. It wasn’t cheap by any means. In fact, it was possibly the most exclusive girls’ school this side of the Mississippi.

When it came to “having things” at the school, Kathryn had nothing but the best; the best clothes, the best luggage, the best school bag, the best sponge bag. In the mornings, when she went to clean her teeth and wash her face, her exquisite sponge bag was sometimes stared at by the other girls. It had prints of lavender on the sides, with a silver-coloured zipper at the top, and a little mirror when it opened. Yes, indeed. Kathryn’s mother had guessed right when she said (part jokingly of course) that the sight of a sponge bag first thing in the morning establishes ones social standing firmly in the minds of others for the rest of the day. In fact, possibly not because of the sponge bag but because of the confidence it instilled into Kathryn, she was elected to be the one to give the speech on the teacher’s birthday.

Even though the school cost a pretty penny they accepted three girls from poor families free of charge to alleviate their conscience for overcharging everyone else. Margaret was one such girl.

Margaret’s mother had sewn together a sponge bag for her daughter. To be honest, it wasn’t much. It was fabric with little hearts on it, and lined with plastic. A drawstring took the place of a zip, and it didn’t have a mirror. Margaret kept her toothbrush and toothpaste and other things in there. It served her well enough.

All that sponge bag stuff was years ago. Time waits for no one. Kathryn’s sponge bag has long gone. She lives in a comfortable walled-estate known as Meadowlark, and sends her daughter to the most exclusive school for girls this side of the Mississippi.

Margaret on the other hand lives in an unbelievably beautiful mansion. She has three children, a gardener, several cars, and everything else. She made her fortune making and selling sponge bags with little hearts on them, and lined with plastic. A drawstring takes the place of a zipper, and it doesn’t have a mirror. It’s the type of sponge bag that most people purchase because it is pretty even though such things don’t really matter.

 

1453. The last scream

It was very spooky. Within seconds of Natasha getting wet in the shower (this is at night time) the bathroom light would go off. It started only about a month ago, and occasionally. Now it happened automatically, every time.

“Blow it,” thought Natasha, not as yet equating the event with supranatural causes, “I shall walk dripping wet across the bathroom floor and turn the light back on.” She did just that. But no sooner had she got back into the shower the light went out again.

Next above the sound of water falling, she heard “hee hee hee”. It was a woman’s voice. It was coming from the direction of the light switch. Natasha began to feel scared. The “hee hee hee” had certain nasty overtones.

Natasha stepped immediately out of the shower, strode to the light switch, turned it on and reached for a towel. All the bathroom towels had gone. Not even the usual hand towel was there.

And then she saw it. OMG! She saw it! Natasha screamed. That scream was the last sound ever to come out of Natasha’s mouth.

Hee hee hee!

1285. Taking the piss

In the good old days, women who wanted to spend a penny would go to the House of Lords to powder the nose. On the other hand, men who wanted to see a man about a dog would go to the bog to shake hands with the vicar.

These days, everyone goes to the bathroom. Someone took the music out of the language.

950. Julia’s bath

Although Julia’s bathroom had a shower, she preferred to take a bath. She loved to lie there in the warmth of her bath, covered in bubbles. Of course, she kept her bath immaculate. It was always perfectly scrubbed after each bath, otherwise it would become just too hard to clean altogether. She lived alone, so she didn’t have to worry about cleaning the bath after others had used it.

When she went on a month long cruise in a luxury liner, her cabin didn’t have a bath. But not to worry; she had a shower. She could lie in her bath to her hearts content when she went home.

When the cruise finished, Julia went home.

There was a ring around the bath.

To listen to the story being read click HERE!

723. Bathroom light

Dolores had lived next door to Mrs Grimmer for years. For years Mrs Grimmer would turn her bathroom light on three times a night. For years, three times a night, Mrs Grimmer’s bathroom light would shine over the boundary fence, across the lawn, and into Dolores’ high bedroom window. For years, Dolores had woken three times nightly.

And then, the impossible happened; one night the light didn’t go on. Dolores lay awake waiting and worrying. The next day she tapped on Mrs Grimmer’s door.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright,” said Mrs Grimmer. She never was the nicest of neighbours. “Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your bathroom light didn’t go on last night, and I thought I’d check.”

“I’m perfectly alright. There’s no need to go snooping around my house. I’m old enough to look after myself. Stop bothering me, you nosey-parker. If I want someone to meddle in my affairs, I’ll let you know.”

Dolores left. The thrice nightly bathroom illumination recommenced.

And then, the impossible happened; one night the light didn’t go off. Dolores lay awake waiting and worrying. The next day she did not tap on Mrs Grimmer’s door.

It’s amazing what a stroke can do. Sometimes you lie on the bathroom floor for days before you die.

Listen the story being read HERE!

521. Bathroom chair

Stella was riled. Why had no one ever told her? Forever, she had thought it stupid that people had a chair in their bathroom.

Stella had plenty of time to ponder this from her hospital bed. She had broken her hip.

She needed a chair in her bathroom. There comes a time when one cannot stand on one leg to step into the underwear.

482. Soap in the eyes

Estelle lived alone. She was fussy about her brand of body wash, and shampoo and conditioner. What if the body wash was “Vanilla and Soy” and the shampoo was “Apple Blossom”? Yuk! Did these two scents mix? Did they clash?

In the end, she used “Watermelon” body wash, and “Lime and Cinnamon” shampoo. The shampoo was particularly good, because it was a “2 in 1”: she didn’t have to work out which was the shampoo and which was the conditioner while in the shower without her reading glasses.

It said “lather the shampoo in the hair and leave for a minute before washing out thoroughly”.

Of course lathering up and standing in the shower for a minute with eyes shut tight seems a long time. Estelle re-opened her eyes without fear of getting soap in them. There were wet footprints on the bathroom floor. They weren’t hers.