The Shower

He stood with his head against the bathroom door, anxious sweat coursing down his back. He listened to his mother in the shower, singing along to the radio, working up his nerve. Just do it!

The impulse, like a stab, hit him again, and he knew he had to do it before it was too late. He slowly opened the door a crack, and continued as the singing continued uninterrupted. He crept forward on tiptoes, shifting his weight and moving as slowly as he could.

He saw it there, across the room, and he he felt a sudden lifting of his spirits. If I do this right, no one will ever suspect. No one will know what happened.

Slowly he reached out and picked it up, pivoting slowly, looking at the shower. The singing continued.

Resolutely, he marched forward, and out the door. Once it was shut behind him, he ran to the downstairs bathroom, butt-cheeks clenched in an agonizing spasm, and dove in with the extra roll of toilet paper in hand.

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