It's funny living in other people's houses but it's freakin' uncomfortable living in your pastor's. Pastor and his wife told us we could sleep in the master suite but we refrained. Husband and I were a little creeped out by sleeping where Pastor "did it", even though whenever we have overnight guests, we're always trying to give our bed away! But, we made ourselves as much at home as we could. We chose one of their sons' room to sleep in since he was young enough to be safe he wasn't "doin' it" but old enough to have a full-sized bed. Best of both worlds!
It is a peaceful house and has many places and spaces to curl up and just......be. I took full advantage of the stillness of the house, seeing as our residence at the time, was always filled with the screams of Eldest Son mixed with the squeals of really excited girls upstairs and the coos and goos of 2 absolutely adorable and brand new babies. One, Youngest Son and the other, our friends' little guy upstairs. That house was a busy house; always in constant motion. I imagine that house probably breathed an exhausted sigh when we would all leave for our respective works and took all the children to daycare and school. So I thoroughly lavished myself in the stillness I found in Pastor's house.
One quiet afternoon, I walked over to the guest bathroom to use the facilities. Without being too crass, I sat down, did my liquid business and then realized there was absolutely no toilet paper. Crap! This is not like not having toilet paper in your own house. In your own house you can holler for someone or know where the surplus stash is, or waddle out with your pants down, grab the toilet paper and make a dash back to the bathroom before anyone sees your naked butt. But this wasn't my house so my options were limited.
Pastor's wife is a good woman. She is sweet without being cotton candy, gentle-spirited in a honest manner, funny when necessary and a bomb hostess. She's made an absolutely welcoming home. The walls are warm and filled with family photos and clever decor that you're pissed you didn't think of first. So, knowing this, I knew she had some kind of paper products stashed in this bathroom somewhere. I looked in the small, hand-painted cabinet in the corner but found nothing. Nothing but facial tissue (a woman's best friend next to toilet paper)! I was so relieved upon seeing the little box of folded, downy-soft paper. So I happily grabbed some and wiped, washed my hands and went to the kitchen to raid the fridge for some type of snack food.
I was going about foraging through plastic leftover containers and fancy salad dressing, when I felt a warmth between my legs that gave me pause. I ignored the sensation at first, as a wash of heat that came over me. I was, in a different house so I was thinking, maybe the air conditioning was warmer than I was used to. But then the warm sensation intensified to a definite heat. The heat turned to a burning and I was doing plies ballet style in the kitchen of my Pastor's house attempting to "air" out my lady-bits. But what was causing this sudden heat wave in my pants? Oh dear Jesus! I figured I had an idea.
I ran back to the bathroom and grabbed the box of fluffy tissue, whipped it around to the label side and there, staring back at me was that very familiar logo. The box read "tissue infused with Vick's Vapor Rub". Vapor Rub! I had just rubbed Vick's all over my girlfriend!!!!!!!! Only me. Only me. I quickly abandoned all reason, tore my pants off WITH the door open, pumped the hand soap bottle, turned the cold water on and hand washed my most private of privates. I received immediate relief from the heat between my legs and could not have been more grateful for soap and water. I found respite and peace in my Pastor's guest bathroom; pants around my ankles, standing there in a puddle of water, booty all out there.
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