Toilet paper shouldn’t have to be this embarrassing

I’ve embarrassed myself hundreds, maybe thousands of times over the years. From the afternoon I forgot to wear pants while washing the car to the time I sat on a playground swing moments before the chain broke and hit me on the head, my life has been one long litany of red-faced vignettes, executed to the delight of nearby friends and family.

You might think this much practice at looking foolish would somehow have inured me to the condition, but nope, every time I do something stupid—depending on who you ask, this takes place on a daily/hourly/ongoing basis—I feel like a doofus.

It doesn’t have to be some supremely dorky moment, even everyday circumstances conspire to make me look a fool. This notion was played out recently in a Detroit area mall.

I was going out to pick up a few sundry household items and my daughter, with whom I was staying at the time, asked if I’d also grab a package of toilet paper.

Now, as far as I know, everyone in the civilized world uses toilet paper. But it’s one of those things “polite” folks (I’m not one myself, but I’ve heard they exist) don’t talk about in mixed company. Considering its intended purpose, I suppose I can understand that.

I mean, every time I see that TP commercial featuring the bear family (that does you-know-what in the woods) I die a little inside. I’m not particularly squeamish, but really. Bears?

At any rate, unlike in my married days, when I was occasionally forced to pick up euphemistically-named “feminine hygiene products,” buying toilet paper doesn’t—as a rule—cause me any embarrassment.

This trip was different.

The mall at which I was shopping is very upscale. Though anchored by two mega-retailers selling discount items, the rest of the mall is crowded with snooty little jewelry stores, designer boutiques and chic salons. My first stop was the discount store, where I found a great deal on toilet paper, a giant-sized block of “southern cleansing enhancer” as big as a Buick.

There was no bag large enough to contain this monstrous slab of tissue, so I lugged it into the mall balanced precariously on my shoulder, hopeful I would not be bumped, thereby causing me to drop the cube and crush any nearby children or little old ladies.

By the time I had tracked down all the items on my own shopping list, I had been sniggered at by zit-faced teens at Spencer’s Gifts, the skinny 20-somethings stationed just inside the Gap and perhaps worst of all, the gorgeous sweeties hawking male fantasies at Victoria’s Secret. A little old lady checking out orthopedic shoes shook her head and smiled at my plight. (I considered dropping the cube and crushing her, but that seemed a little drastic.)

Everyone uses toilet paper! But you can bet I won’t again be advertising that fact at the mall.

More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com. Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com. Mike’s new book, Looking at the Pint Half Full is available at mtrealitycheck.com.