Sorting Time

When will I learn?

Probably never, let’s be brutally honest.

Last night, The Mister let me know online that he was going to come home early.  Horray!  “We might get to see each other for half an hour before I go to bed,” I jealously thought.

See, I’m so used to spending my nights alone that I get excited when he gets home even a tad bit early.  I start revamping my “plans” (i.e., which television shows I’m going to watch that night).  Generally, I get in this state of excitement.  It’s silly, but hey, it’s all I’ve got.

So last night, The Mister gets home and we start fooling around.  Now I’m not one for talking about my sex life, but the second this happened I knew I had to blog about it.  We’re laying there, making out like teenagers spending time together when all of a sudden it hits me…there was no toilet paper in the bathroom that morning.  I used the last of it.  Someone better get toilet paper in there before morning.  God forbid I have to go downstairs early in the morning to refill the toilet paper.  Toiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpapertoiletpaper etc.  I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the damn toilet paper.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been intimate with someone when you had something else on your mind, but it’s difficult to concentrate.  All I can think about is TP and all The Mister can think about is…well, you know.  But I gave it a try and kept pushing through when finally I couldn’t wait any longer–I knew that if I forgot now I’d be walking downstairs, pants around my ankles, in the morning looking for the holy grail.

“I know this is going to sound weird,” I say backing away.  “But, didyougettoiletpaperandputitinthebathroomthismorning?” I blurted out.

“What?!” he asks, backing away.

“Did you get toilet paper and put it in the bathroom this morning?” I repeat, very slowly.

He sighs deeply, knowing that this is one of my clearly crazy antics.

“No,” he says. “I did not.”

“Oh.”

He tried to resume the high school make out session.

“Because I was in there this morning and used the rest and I haven’t been back since and I’m just worried I’ll forget and then I’ll be stuck there in the morning without toilet paper and that’s the worst feeling ever and…”

He sighs again.

“Will you promise to get toilet paper from the basement when we’re done?” I ask coyly.

“No,” he says.  “You can do it.”

This goes back and forth for a minute before we resume our irregularly scheduled activities.  As much as I try to be into it, especially given the extra time we don’t usually have, all I can think about is trying to remember to get toilet paper from the basement before we go to bed.

They say women think about weird things during sex.  I never realized this until I was married.  It’s like there are two brains–one partaking in the activity and the other sorting out things that need sorting.  Remember that episode of Seinfeld where George gets really smart from abstaining and Elaine gets really stupid from doing the same?  I’m convinced it’s because she didn’t have the sorting time.

Finally, when we’re done and laying there and I’m getting ready to go to bed, I lean over and quietly ask, again: “Can you please get the toilet paper from downstairs?”

And being the stubborn person who only gave in to another stubborn person because she whined enough gentleman he is, he did.

Victory. Is. Mine.