Home Alone; or, How a Dull Man Performed Necessary Tasks to Find Tranquility, Blissfulness, and Nirvana

I wrote this post for the Facebook page of the Dull Men's Club, but the post's meaning and purpose are universal enough to be more widely published.

I had the time of my life a couple days ago, and I want to make sure that my fellow dull men know about it.

My wife was gone much of the day, playing bridge.  I roamed around the house, pausing at the necessary room.  Where I live the usual term is “bathroom,” but I understand that some dull men live where they have “loos.”  By any term, it’s the necessary room.

That day, in our necessary room, there was no necessary paper.  Cradled by chrome arms, the spindle rested there, empty, thin, equally round all the way, reminding me of a girl I dated in high school. 

I replaced it, snapping a new roll into place the way I was taught shortly after the wedding.  I had other plans for those moments, plans that would lead to an activity more beneficial and vastly more fulfilling, but my bride insisted, first things first.  There is only one way to install the roll, she decreed, so I did it now the same way I learned all those years ago, and the way I have been doing it ever since.  When I was finished, the ready-to-use paper hung down in front and not back by the wall.

But then I realized, here I was, home alone, totally unsupervised.  I could do anything!

Driven by some unnamed urge, I removed the roll, and—reversed it!  Now it stood proudly mounted, with the ready-to-use paper hanging down the back.

I hyperventilated for a time.  I was excited, no doubt about it.  I stood there gazing at my handiwork, toying with the idea of bringing in a chair and spending the rest of the afternoon just sitting and worshipping what I had done.  Maybe sipping a relaxing beverage while thus reflecting on the joys of humanity.

And then, I realized I was not finished.  In a flash, I leapt to my feet, reached over and raised the toilet seat until it was vertical, not flat against the bowl.

Now the necessary room was organized and displayed in a manner that was comforting and inviting.  Buddha would have wanted it this way, not that I’m a Buddhist, but I feel it necessary to appeal to a deity of some sort or other, and his name was close to mind.

Alas, the bridge game had to end sometime, and my wife would be home shortly thereafter.  I would have to restore order, which I did, dawdling as much as possible, while softly weeping.

Maybe it was only a fantasy.  Could it have been real?  I don’t know, but my Walter Mitty moment was ended.

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