Hand Towel Terror!

Olah Lovers!

And may I just say it’s olah with a definite O! Sadly it’s not the O we all strive towards in our climactic bedroom romps. No no, this is the O with a big old H behind it.

Intrigued?

Read on fair maidens! (And all you perky prince’s too of course ;-))

P.S if you’re not a fan or get squeamish around toilet humour, you may want to step away from the computer right about now.

So, on Thursday night myself and my best friend Will decided to grab some delicious frozen yogurt. And yes if you’re wondering it lived up to its delectable expectations and pretty soon I was licking the cup clean like the immaculate lady I am. Just as we were about to leave I felt that familiar phone call from my bladder. He’d left several messages that I’d studiously ignored, happy to keep the stimulating conversation with Will going, (plotting to murder his incredibly annoying room mate was the hot topic) but this time he definitely wasn’t hanging up. It was pee or be peed on.

I headed to the bathroom, which in this case was a small single room with a basin and mirror etc a few metres away from the loo.

Straight away I noticed there was no toilet paper.

Bugger.

But there was one piece of hand towel left.

Hurrah!

I sat down to pee, thanking the bladder gods that I was only being gifted number ones at this current moment. Finishing up I jiggled around a little to get all the excess off (no need to waste my precious hand towel on unnecessary drippage) and as I did I felt a bit of a cheeky fart coming on. I shrugged and let it free; better to do it in the confines of the bathroom rather than wafting my way back through the innocent yogurters, right?

To my absolute horror though, my sneaky little fart, my measly little puff of wind, went from a harmless ethereal being to a damn butt nugget!

I waited, frozen in place to hear the telltale splash from beneath me…

*Splash*

Nooooo!

Oh God, oh God, oh God! What to do?

I looked dolefully at my pitifully ill equipped single paper towel, apologising to it mentally for the rigmarole I was about to put it through. He was a hands man all the way and here I was about to put him through the roughest wipe of his short-lived life.

I took a deep breath and went for it.

Argh I didn’t get everything!

Shit!

Literally!

I looked around frantically, praying there was some form of absorbent material I’d missed. I considered ripping up the toilet roll but cardboard was practically useless and I didn’t want to block up the poor establishments toilets. No need to drag them into this situation too.

I stood up and waddled around the room, my shorts still firmly around my ankles.

And then I saw it.

Do I dare?

The only other option I had was walking back out there and telling Will I had to go home because I was unable to wipe my ass properly, then proceed to walk over a kilometre home without my butt cheeks touching.

At twenty seven? No thanks buddy. Technically I could have whipped off my undies and used them but I was running really low in the whole undergarment area, and even if I did go through with it, where the hell did I hide the evidence afterwards?

So that’s how I found myself rifling through the bin, bare ass high in the air and legs apart as I desperately searched for hand towels that hadn’t been used too much.

Jesus, what had my life become? This was supposed to be a relaxing night of frozen yogurt dammit!

Finally I found a few pieces that had only been half ‘used’.

I sat back down and gingerly tried to clean up the mess that was Claire, careful not to use any dirty parts of the paper towel.

Yeah I’d have to say that was the low point of my night.

When I finally emerged I expected everyone to be staring at me, wondering what I’d been doing in there and why I had such a look of haunted shame stamped all over my face.

But of course nobody did, and everyone carried on eating their yogurt like it was a regular night.

Lucky bastards.

I waddled back to Will, still feeling incredibly icky, and explained what had happened. He was suitably amused and disgusted and we had a good laugh while I died inside and tried to block out vicious flashbacks. Then I took myself home, turned on the shower and washed my butt crack with a ferocity that would make any germ freak proud.

So how was your Thursday Lovers?

Claire

xx

P.S More on Callum next time, I just had to get that story out!

Pick up line of the week: Yeah its big, and if you pet it, it spits.

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