Sometimes, to escape the boredom of a routine-bound life, I vary the order in which I perform morning ablutions - teeth first, then face or, perhaps, hair first and shave second.
This morning, my need for unexpected bathroom thrills lead me into trouble. I thought, in the interests of efficiency, that I would concertina what is usually two activities. Today, in place of grooming while standing in front of the mirror, I would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and do, what I usually do standing, while sitting on the loo.
Brilliant, I thought, what a great way to save time. So, with the newspaper propped up on the stool, I began: Reading Ben Trovato's column in the Cape Times always helps me in the loo, so that was where I began today. However, as is usual for me, I didn't think this idea through carefully enough. I'm a big-picture kind of guy, and this big picture looked peachy. Applying underarm deo was a cinch, and brushing my hair into its usual handsome coif a piece of pie. The real problem occurred, while simultaneously laughing at Trovato's lame-brained attempts to renegotiate his rent, experiencing relief and squeezing out a pea-sized amount of moisturiser. I won't be surprised if I break into spots by the end of the day after applying a week's supply in error. Never mind.
Although I was never a Scout, I believe in being prepared so I had my floss and toothpasted brush ready for action.
If you also fund patting your head while rubbing your tummy a challenge, may I suggest that you do not try to floss and evacuate simultaneously. Had this been one of those hard-to-let-go mornings, I'm sure I would have ended up wiring my mouth shut with the floss instead of cleaning my teeth - believe me! flossing requires a lot of concentration.
It was only after I'd brushed my teeth for the requisite two minutes that I realised I was not able to leave my seat to spit. The same anxiety as getting someone's nametag wrong at an event welled up inside of me. Should I spit into the toilet paper, should I swallow and so, with the mint paste by now feeling like napalm in my cheeks, I held it in until I was ready to get up.
Looking in the mirror after, cheeks still on fire, I saw the first zit appear and noted that instead of my crown-induced middle path, I'd brushed by hair into an Ozzie Osborne mess.
Looking at my desk planning how to tidy it anew for the quantum-trillianth time I thought - shit, some things are better done as they usually are.