Joe today, over some nice Indian food I made us for dinner, informs me that he had to use a page of the yellow pages to wipe himself today because our apartment didn't have any TP. And I quote, "In case you're looking for Mr. Kingsburg, he's hanging off my ass."
So, we take our new friend Mehgie (who lives upstairs and likes the show Arrested Development), and head to McDonalds. While Joe and her divert the authorities attention by cleverly ordering two ice cream cones, I sneak into the restroom (which they just call "the toilet" here) with my backpack. I felt a bit like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment, but alas I am able to get the roll out.
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