They didn’t want the mug. It was not on the registry. But it’s monogrammed. It’s the thought that counts. When they move in, it’s placed in the very back of the cabinet. Only the front row dishes and glasses are cycled in and out of the place.

Time passes. They start to reach for second row dishes. It takes longer for them to return.

Finally, the cabinet opens and the mug is alone in there. So the hand takes it and rinses off the dust and finally it’s functioning as it’s supposed to. It sits for a while on the counter. Contents congeal. The mug witnesses an argument and it’s thumped - not very gently - into the sink. That’s okay. It’s sturdy enough.

Time passes.

It’s clean now. It sits upside down on a drying mat, but a bit of a ring remains from the only thing it’s held. It’s okay, it gives it character. A few of the other mugs are cycled on and off the mat. Sometimes it’s accidentally put in rotation.

Time passes.

It sits, pleasantly warm, on the counter. The hand is supposed to take it to the desk that overlooks a window with a view of the bay. But it waits patiently as there’s shouting again in the kitchen. Then, perhaps tempers ran a bit hotter than usual, perhaps a hand flails just a bit too far. But the mug goes flying. It’s sturdy, but not that sturdy.

for the love of toilet tissue

here an empty cardboard roll

my fingers spin deftly round

hoping to grasp a smallish bit

of whitish flimsy paper shred

left dangling but no

so I sit contemplating my next

movement

in this orange jumpsuit

I feel

I must confess

Almost God

like,

with this

mechanical

gadget arm

extending

well

beyond

ordinary reach,

with

just a squeeze

I grasp

in a

flash

of sharp

reflected light

the most

unholy

unsavory

of things

I avoid the dog-shit

and organics

and what will return

of its own accord,

and so are

to me,

of no matter

I step

gingerly

over

the rock

and gravel

and cornerstones

and lovingly

tweeze

into black collection

baggie

what I

have

come to terms

with as...

the offed

wrapper

06.14.2024

And... discarded. Elevate it challenge @Last

The guests were having fun when one of them asked for tea. It didn't end up as expected.

Given that we all want to unwind after five days of nine-to-fiving (or longer), nobody wants to know about mundane stuff on the weekend. So didn't my guest.

"What tea would you like?" I asked opening a tea chest full of every flavour from peppermint to lemongrass.

"Chamomile, please" The guest replied politely.

As they ripped open the sachet and pulled out the tea bag, little did they know it came with strings attached.

It was on the third dip of the bag in the hot water that I said:

"Do you know the science behind the humble tea bag?"

"Uh-huh"

"There's osmosis, of course" It was obvious to me so I of-coursed my statement, "But also diffusion."

The guest smiled and plunged the tea bag in the hot water for the thirteenth time. It made a small splash.

"Hmm." They said.

"See, there are more water molecules outside the bag than inside," I gestured, using one hand as tea bag and the other indicating the water around it, "So the water permeates through the membrane... er the tea bag until an equilibrium is reached. That is osmosis!"

"Wow." Dip number nineteen.

"Then, molecules from the tea leaves start moving out and reach every part of the hot water, basically from an area of high concentration to a lower one. That is diffusion. Who would've thought there's so much science going on, right?"

"True. Who would've thought!" My guest held a dripping tea bag over their cup and I offered a saucer to place it on.

"Thanks," They continued, "For an enlightening cup of tea."

I smiled but didn't miss the look on their face that clearly warned:

'Be glad I didn't fling the hot water at you...'

Please dont leave me.

I cannot come with you.

But you have been with me my whole life.

You did not love me then. You took advantage of me and fed me poison.

I am sorry.

It's too late for sorry. Now because of you I will die.

I will die with you.

No, you will move on to another while I remain a rotting corpse here.

I am sorry, I wish I treated you better. You were an amazing body of mine and I destroyed you.

Just promise me you will try harder next time.

I promise.

We've become indifferent to the simple things in this age of high technology where everything is smart, artificially intelligent, or Bluetooth enabled because technology takes care of everything for us. Worried about water, turn on the faucet and there it is. Worried about sexual frustration? Just hit the, "Ride 'Em Cowgirl" setting on a vibrator and the need for a man goes away. Well, what if something so tried and true, barely improved upon, and so ignored suddenly disappeared? What would the world be without toilet paper?

Sure, it's funny, no TP for the bunghole...he-he. In fact, we had a near miss during the pandemic when people would hoard Cotonelle and get in fights over the last package of Charmin. Even Costco's unprocessed Kirkland brand, it'll give you ass splinters TP disappeared. Still, in the back of our minds, we knew we'd get our toilet paper back. Until then, we just used coffee filters and anything with Donald Trump's picture on it to cleanse ourselves. Of course, toilet paper returned after a lot of arguing over drinking bleach versus getting vaccinated, and our butt napkins became plentiful once again. Still, what if society collapsed and TP became extinct?

To see how we'd survive today, let's explore how people survived without TP prior to its invention in 1857:

Prehistory: Most likely humanity began its bum-wiping with what was available, which meant rocks, plants, and water. One can imagine that using rocks was uncomfortable and likely the cause of the first ever case of hemorrhoids. Plants? Plants were good, well unless you accidently reached for poison ivy or a Venus flytrap to wipe. Of course, the consequences of using poison ivy was A LOT of discomfort. The consequences of using a Venus fly trap? The first (and likely only) botanical castration and/or circumcision in human history. Water was good, but during the ice age, using water would likely result in hypothermia or frostbite to the No-No place. Later, mastodon hides were likely employed. Oh, it was soft and all, but it was also attached to a 5 ton+ killing machine, thus hard to get. Once obtained, the user then had to worry about giving fleas and ticks access to VERY sensitive areas of their body.

Classical Period: It is believed the ancient Romans used a communal sponge dipped in vinegar for cleansing. Although it did the job, we can't ignore the icky, COMMUNALITY of the method.

Dark Ages Forward: After the fall of the Roman Empire, it's assumed that all manner of plants, cloth, water, and bare hands were used in the wiping of the soiled southern orifices. All in all, it was likely a smelly, unsanitary, and unpleasant experience.

Sadly, humble toilet paper rarely enters the discussion as to what are some of the greatest human inventions. Still, life would be very different (and uncomfortable) without it. So, maybe toilet paper needs to be considered as one of the greatest human inventions. Oh, I wouldn't rank it #1, but maybe #2?

Thick, shiny

Strong.

Mr Gray's toy collection

User instructions never adhered

Have you ever

once seen one where

it's supposed to be?

Holding cables, bundled together

Like locks of hair

glossy and straight

A wig at the back of the TV.

Snips and nips of sliced ties

across the estate floor,

Gigantic ants scuttling

to safety from

The scissors of life

Dear Mr. Henderson,

Thank you for your letter of concern over your bill. Yes, I understand the balance is sizable, but your case was not only an emergency but complex, too. I had to address the serious infection involving several nerve roots of several teeth in both your mandible and maxilla. This required powerful antibiotic therapy, which had to be switched to others when resistance developed. As you know, third-generation antibiotics tend to be very expensive.

After the infectious crisis was resolved--thankfully before sepsis developed--a series of extractions were completed that were needed upon first presentation. Because you lost a lot of bone, hip grafts to your maxilla were necessary. After that, detailed impressions had to be made and, because continued debriding was necessary, these impressions were made serially.

Then, restoration involved titanium implants with porcelain-rare Earth amalgam shells to match what you had before your troubles began.

Yes, your balance is large, but we'd appreciate it if you settled it as soon as possible. We appreciate that you're a celebrity of some stature, acting in several major motion pictures a year; thus, we know how important your presentation must be.

You will not find a better cosmetic result, given the difficulties and challenges. You will agree that any "closeup" in any pivotal Oscar-chatter scene will have your audience spellbound because of my work. When you accept your Oscar and are thanking the "little people" who made it all possible, don't feel you have to thank me, though. Just go ahead and pay the $162.83 bill, please. (Not an unreasonable price for all I did!)

I know your mouth and teeth are important:

--for your work

--to present your stunning physical persona

--to ensure your trademark mesmerizing smile

Oh, and...

Did I happen to mention you EAT with them?

You eat with them! You have to eat, don't you? That's not just an aside or an also-considered aspect. You don't eat, you die. Asshole.

Sincerely,

Your reconstructive oral surgeon

A stopper on a string - cotton, like the kind that air dries on a laundry line, but more sinister, because only women can use them.

Sometimes they come with life-threatening chemicals, if you get unlucky. Nevermind third world countries.

A life saver. A commodity in women’s rooms everywhere, where we teach under stalls covered in graffiti, night club reveries. We ask politely. But there’s no need: we’re here, entwined forever as a gender, for better or worse. There’s no line crossed when it’s the cross we all bear.

Did you know, that in psych wards, they are contraband - not allowed, for fear we’ll hang ourselves on the end of them.

So predictable of women, I guess, to hang ourselves with five inches when we can get that measurement from men.

Signs at protests that read: I can do what you do, bleeding.

All you have to do is have a uterus to be in this ultra-exclusive, oppressed and subservient club of ours.

A necessity: but expensive, not free. Disposable, somehow political.

They are easily discarded. But rest assured: every month, we reach for these objects, grateful for them, though the public merely whispers about them.

Rest assured: it’s a man’s world, and we are stuck with the reproductive burden, the stained pants, the humiliation of a natural body process.