This morning, my spouse intercepts me coming out of the bathroom ask, “I’m going to the store, do you need anything?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I need some [blank] and some [blank] because I have [insert graphic and colorful description of a minor but disgusting personal problem].”
My spouse looked startled. Confused, I looked around.
“Oh,” I said, “You might have informed me we have company.”
Every day I grow more convinced the universe is a cosmic conspiracy to rob me of my dignity.