Bear Nipples

Spell this blog incorrectly and you have porn.

Spell it right and you have the toilet paper holder in our bathroom.

Except it's still a little pornographical – see his nipples?

Dave put them there (I told you had a thing for boobies).

It was the only way of holding up the bear toity-paper holder.

We bought it Saturday morning on a chick-flick-style jaunt up the quaint and touristy main street of Bracebridge. It may look quaint (the street) but it is a beacon to wallets that belong to men driving Mercedes and skinny blonde women driving men. It is a mecca of retail paradise in the guise of small town.

We picked up the bear toilet paper holder in one of those trendy, expensive Muskoka-style stores that cater almost exclusively to tourists. We HAD to buy it because the bathroom in our log cabin has somehow become decorated in bears. Bear shower curtain. Bear toothbrush holders. Bear arses. You get the picture.

So we had to buy the bear, even though it was ridiculously expensive – who pays $39 for a tacky plastic thing that dispenses shitter-paper? (Dave and Dave's family and all the people in Sundridge who know Dave call the bathroom "the shitter." They aren't swearing when they call it that... they're just describing the powder room. Dave also leaves the bathroom door open, all the time. He'd leave the bathroom door open if the queen was visiting. But that's another story.)

We brought the thing home and Dave went to hang it up in the bathroom but couldn't because almost immediately some thing-a-ma-jig in the back broke.

"##%#%^$*^(&)E›#@," said Dave. (You can imagine what swear words would come out of the mouth of someone who calls a bathroom a shitter and isn't even swearing. Kids, you better not be reading this...you never do... but I realize the minute I swear you'll be reading it like hawks.)

"You'll fix it," I say. "If anyone can, you can."

Sure enough, a half an hour later he comes wandering in from the garage holding the bear.

"Bear nipples," he says, holding it up to reveal two holes where screws would go to hold the bear to the wall.

"Huh," I say. 

I'd never actually heard those two words put together before and was therefore, briefly, speechless. 

(Dave wrote something on the calendar, god knows what it was.)

What I thought, was, "at least the bear nipples will be behind the toilet paper roll so you won't see them."

Wrong again. Now every time I'm in the shi ... bathroom ... all I see are the two holes filled with bright, shiny reflective screw heads. 

I'm thinking of maybe getting some tassles for them.