I woke up this morning at the sound of a text message from my photographer, mere minutes before my alarms was to go off. Joy and Jubilation, today`s shoot was canceled! Having been up working until 3am the previous night, i gladly rolled over and fell back asleep. Bliss!

I woke up 2 hours later, well rested, to an concerned Keith text. “WTF, you said you`d do Fuck Mondays this week!”

“No problem” i said. “I just woke up. I`ll take care of it.”

I confidently got up and put on my “i`m staying home fuckers!” clothes. I drag my feet over to the washroom for my morning poop.

"The Anguish"

Holy shit… i ran out of toilet paper. And i know full well i have none left in the cupboard, as i was the last one to replace the roll. I forgot to go buy more. And my home isn`t the sort of home where you find a box of friendly tissues every room you walk in. Paper towels? Fuck that, the plumbing in this building is so old i`d probably clog up the whole system.

Accepting the inevitable fact that i must go outside after all to go to the store, i trip on my make-up kit on my way out (it`s 3 feet high, you see, and it`s black and i didn`t bother turn the lights on so i didn`t see it)

OMG i`m a make-up artist! I`m saved! I open it up and there, buried deep within, is a glorious box of tissues.

And here`s a happy ending doodle.

Best Fwends

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