(MOTHER ***** ME . . . WHAT ARE YOU DOING . . . DAMN)

I titled my head forward and bent my neck so the liquid would drip to my lap. Blindly I grabbed for a piece of toilet paper to wipe my face but encountered only cardboard.

( GAWD DAMN ***** K, WHAT THE ***** IS WRONG WITH YOU GIRL)

I knew immediately that the roll was empty so I reached behind me to the top of the toilet to grab the spare roll. Nothing there either – – I swear to Bette that living with K was worse than living with a man at times. Even though she always left the seat down, sometimes she would also lower the cover. More than once I have plopped down on a cold toilet seat nearly breaking my tailbone. And she NEVER replaces anything – empty milk cartons in the fridge, gasless cars, no money in the joint checking account. She was an amazing woman but a real pill to live with sometimes.

Most times this situation would not have been such a big deal. I could always wipe my eye on the sleeve of my t-shirt and I could just sit there and drip dry or pull my underwear way up, wipe, then throw them right in the washer. But I was naked . . .no shirt to dry my eye on, no underwear to dry my pee on, no toilet paper within reaching distance.

Thats quite a little predicament you got yourself into there, Beach, she said trying to not laugh at my situation.

Usually the sound of her voice is unexpected and scares the living BeJesus right out of me, but I suppose I was kinda sorta waiting around for her to add her two cents worth of advice. She never fails to butt in when I seem to be having a problem relating the truth to my wife. Thus her appearance now seemed more than appropriate, but I just wasnt sure to which what predicament she was referring – my lack of bathroom necessities or my assault and battery on K.

And just like Jerry Seinfeld acknowledges his mailman pal Newman, I gave BETTE a most sarcastic greeting.