The Best/Worst “Female” Story You Will Ever Read

by Shari on October 4, 2011

WARNING: If you are squeamish, do not read this.

WARNING: If you are a man, do not read this.

WARNING: If you are Tori Spelling, do not read this.

Gstring

I've only told two people this story in my whole life.

Yeah, it's that kind of story.

But when Pickles mentioned that the Spelling Manor had finally been sold, I found myself telling her the story. And as with the one other person I had told, she was stupefied with horror and hilarity. And insisted that I spill.

And so, deep breath… here I go…

In 2003, I occasionally hung out with Tori Spelling. How that came about I won't go into, but suffice it to say I knew her well enough to be invited to dinner at the Manor one night.

Do you think you might be nervous about having dinner with uber-famous people in a 123-room, $150 million dollar house? Would you worry that you'd spill something? Break something? Do something humiliating that would haunt you for the rest of your life?

Uh huh.

I remember it so clearly.  I looked good that night. I was wearing a tank top and a cute little light-colored mini-skirt.

And a thong.

Yes, that's a vital piece of information.

There I was, sitting with Aaron Spelling and his guests as he chatted about his past in television and all the stars he had met. Thinking that he was quite charming and that maybe I was going to be okay, that maybe, just maybe, I would escape, that maybe, just maybe, I was going to make it out of there alive.

Kind of adorable, my optimism, yes?

As Aaron waxed rhapsodic about what a pill Bette Davis was, I suddenly felt something. To this day, I'm not sure if that "something" was in my nether region or in my mind, a sort of warning bell. All I knew was that I needed to go to a rest room and fast.

I asked discreetly and was directed to a guest bathroom whose furnishings cost as much as my college education. The one thing they hadn't invested in? Extra toilet paper. One slender roll hung on the golden holder. And one slender roll was not gonna suffice tonight.

Because Aunt Flo had come for a visit. Two weeks early.

But Auntie looked different. Unlike her normal slim self, the mildly annoying guest who generally came for a few days and disappeared quickly. The Aunt Flo who was visiting me at the $150 million Spelling mansion was the fat lady of the circus.

Because, and I hesitate to tell you this part of the story but at this point what does it really matter, I had suffered a miscarriage a few weeks prior. Do you know anything about the first period after a miscarriage? It's more like an exclamation point. Bolded. Underlined. Italicized. On the repeat key. Covering six pages.

I went into complete panic mode, going through the cabinets (empty), the medicine cabinet (gold-flecked handcream), the towel closet (hand towels so plush you could take a nap on one). There was nothing, NOTHING, in that room that was absorbent AND could be jammed into one's thong. Hands shaking, I unraveled the entire roll of toilet paper and re-raveled it around the dental floss that was masquerading as my underwear.

I had every intention of asking my hostess for help, but when I came out of the bathroom, she was deep in conversation with another guest. Across the room. Past Aaron who eagerly launched back into his stories as soon as he saw me.

I will now invite you into the monologue in my head:

"Tori, look at me. Look up. Look up. Look up Look up Look up. LookupLookupLookupLookupLookup."

"But what would you do if you did look up? You don't live here. Your stuff is not here. Your mother is probably menopausal. I know she has a gift-wrapping room and a bowling alley here in the house, but I doubt she has a tampon room."

"Wait! Is that the maid? The maid will help me! Maid, look at me. Look at me. Lookatmelookatmelookatme. No. No, don't say 'dinner is served'. No, please don't tell us to move into the dining room."

"I'm moving into the dining room. I'm moving into the dining room with a full roll of toilet paper between my legs. I'm not saying anything to anyone, I'm just moving into the dining room. And I'm going to sit in a minute. Sit on a chair."

"And there's the chair. It is a white silk brocade chair. And they're asking me to sit on it. They're asking me to sit on that silky white chair with my Red Sea bottom."

Now in abject terror, I quickly duck into yet another guest bathroom just off the dining room. It looks like someone has butchered a hog in my underpants. And there is a half-roll of TP hanging on the spindle.

"FOR THE LOVE OF EVERY HOLY ANGEL OF CHARLIE!!! THESE PEOPLE ARE RICH!!!! CAN THEY NOT AFFORD A SECOND FREAKIN' ROLL OF TOILET PAPER?!!"

I have no choice. I take a hand towel and wedge it in my thong. And walk very very very carefully to my silky white chair so that it doesn't fall out on the dining room floor.

And I sit on that chair. I sit on that glowy, snowy, cloud-puffy white chair. I sit on my maxi-towel on that dreamy, creamy, don't-be-streamy white chair.

And I pray. God, how I pray.

And the dinner goes on. And on. And on and on and on. I drink my red wine. I watch the juices flow out of my medium-rare filet mignon. I watch the tasteful serving cup of ketchup be passed around. And I feast on irony.

Finally, the moment arrives that I have been dreading with the intensity of a thousand episodes of Love Boat. Dinner is over. And I have to stand up.

I offer one last prayer before I do.

"God, remember that story in the Bible about the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years? I just did the equivalent of that in an hour and a half. But Jesus healed that woman and I believe you can heal the white silk brocade chair. Amen."

I stood up. And there was nothing on the chair. NOTHING. When I went to the bathroom it looked like the Battle of Antietam had been fought in my drawers, but there was NOTHING on the $150 million dollar Spelling Manor white silk brocade dining room chair.

Now how can people say there is no God?! 

*****************

If you liked this post (or at least didn't pass out from the sheer stress of reading it), come on over and Like "Earth Mother just means I'm dusty" on Facebook. And I will send you a nice clean hand towel as a gift.

No. I won't. I promise.

 

{ 54 comments… read them below or add one }

sara October 4, 2011 at 9:43 pm

Totally hilarious! Thanks for making me laugh on your birthday.
I’ll have to tell you my story someday – though not quite as dramatic or hilarious.

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Tracie October 4, 2011 at 11:43 pm

OHMYGOSH!
This story? This is the reason blogs were invented. Because stories like this need to be told, and shared, and read widely.
…and it even made me feel better about that time I started my period while at a new boyfriend’s (unmarried) father’s house for a “meet the parent” dinner. If only bachelors had hand towels in their bathrooms.

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dusty earth mother October 5, 2011 at 4:16 am

Oh Tracie, the pain… :-)

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alex@lateenough October 5, 2011 at 5:24 am

Oh my awesome. I can’t tell you how often my period has shown up when I’m unprepared. The toilet paper wrap around has been my friend but a hand towel? Genius.

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Carol Doak October 5, 2011 at 5:45 am

WOW!! Such a great story and totally hilarious. Thank you for sharing and making me laugh out loud as I read. Have the happiest of birthdays to a very special lady!!

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dusty earth mother October 5, 2011 at 5:53 am

So glad I could give you some tips, Alex :-) And thanks for the RT!

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dusty earth mother October 5, 2011 at 5:53 am

Yes, its a very special birthday story, isnt it? :-) Thanks, Carol!

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Karen Donica October 5, 2011 at 7:00 am

Ok yes when you told me the story I was horrified… but this piece you just wrote is absolutely brilliant.
People are you with me here!
Brilliant comedic writing. I laughed out loud all the way through.
Happy Birthday my brilliant, fabulous friend.

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Anna Lefler October 5, 2011 at 7:21 am

Dear Lord! This is the most harrowing thing I’ve ever heard!
You are a menstrual Jedi, lady – quick thinking on that whole hand towel thing.
*Runs downstairs to load 72 rolls of TP into powder room*
XOXO
A.

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Anna Lefler October 5, 2011 at 7:22 am

And I forgot to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
Have a smudge-free white chair day, my friend. ;-) A.

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tara October 5, 2011 at 9:27 am

Freaken hysterical! And a very happy beautiful fall birthday to you girl!!! Enjoy :)

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Corie Thompson October 5, 2011 at 10:19 am

Yay God!!! : ) Totally hilarious and every woman in the world can relate! This is one of the reasons I still love you Shari!!!!

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Alexandra October 5, 2011 at 2:44 pm

Tell me it was December, please, because OH MY GOODNESS, LOOKY HERE, KIDS, ‘TIS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!!!
Girl….I woulda LEFT.

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Alexandra October 5, 2011 at 2:45 pm

WAIT.
YOUR BIRTHDAY.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WOMAN!!!

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James Christian Jr October 5, 2011 at 2:51 pm

Now….. this is for the name of your next pug!!! What shall that be…hmmm…
Um…btw…
OH MY GOD!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!

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dusty earth mother October 5, 2011 at 3:20 pm

Girl, you know its never December in Hollywood :-)

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dusty earth mother October 5, 2011 at 3:21 pm

you are too funny

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Jenners October 5, 2011 at 5:08 pm

Oh My God … you have the BEST stories …. though I can see why you kept this one wrapped up for years before debuting it.

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Kristin October 5, 2011 at 8:44 pm

Three things.
1. This is possibly the best story EVER.
2. The same exact thing would happen to me, no doubt whatsoever, because that’s how I roll.
3. Almost my entire childhood was spent at my cousin’s house. It was a household of 5. I cannot recall EVER using the bathroom and there being toilet paper in there. AT ALL. Oh, and, yeah, the door didn’t shut completely. And they never had paper towels or napkins, either. I’m still scarred from those experiences. *shudder*

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Kimberly October 5, 2011 at 9:41 pm

I love you for this. Thank you for sharing; my life is infinitely better having heard this. And happy birthday!

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dusty earth mother October 6, 2011 at 5:55 am

I love that you roll like me, Kristin :-)

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dusty earth mother October 6, 2011 at 5:56 am

My life is infinitely better after your comment. :-)

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Ameena October 6, 2011 at 9:04 am

Holy cow…this is crazy! I can’t imagine what I would…just no idea. I’m so glad the chair was completely okay and that you made it out of there with minimal embarassment. You poor thing!!

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MAMA ROSE October 6, 2011 at 1:39 pm

GOOD GRIEF !! SEE I TOLD YOU THOSE SKANKY PANTS WOULD GET YOU IN TROUBLE ONE DAY. SERVES YOU RIGHT – HAHA!!! BUT WHERE’S THE TOWEL. DIDN’T YOU SAVE IT?? A SOUVINEAR FROM THE SPELLING MANSION?? WHERE IS THE TOWEL SHAR BEAR??? A LITTLE BLOOD WOULDN’T HURT WOULD IT?? MAMA ROSE IS NOT HAPPY. THE TOWEL!!! I WANT THE TOWEL!!! GET IT FOR ME.
LUV YA
MAMA ROSE

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dusty earth mother October 6, 2011 at 2:04 pm

Oh. Mama. Rose.

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Charlotte October 6, 2011 at 2:29 pm

Omg, thank you for this. I sooooo needed a laugh today and this post delivered. Big time. I would have turned to prayer in this moment, too.

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Linda October 6, 2011 at 5:09 pm

Oh, this was LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. A laugh that I totally needed today. I had to take breaks because I was laughing so much. Happy Birthday!. Also, I wonder do they take inventory, think they ever noticed the missing towel.
Linda

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Jen {at} take2mommy October 6, 2011 at 7:05 pm

WOW! What a story! Incredible.
You handled that situation so well! I would have ran out of the house sobbing.
So nice to meet you today at the Liberty Science Center!

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KarenGville October 7, 2011 at 7:56 pm

Between this story and the one about the lice you have parlayed our worst physical nightmares into a source of mirth. I laughed and laughed, and I think that if I am ever in a situation remotely resembling one of these I will be able to laugh again then and there, thanks to you. Not almost fantastic, but truly fantastic magic you weave.

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dusty earth mother October 7, 2011 at 8:28 pm

Thanks, Karen. My friend Diana is certain that God allows these ludicrous things to happen to me because he knows I need it for blog fodder :-)

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katbron October 8, 2011 at 8:37 am

Ha ha – This is the best Aunt Flo arrival story I’ve ever heard! Love it! It even beats my Aunt’s story about the wad of toilet paper escaping through the back of her pants as she was climbing the massive front entry stairs of the Kansas State Capitol!

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dusty earth mother October 8, 2011 at 12:28 pm

Thats pretty bad, Kathy. Add a celebrity into that and your aunt might win.

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Lady Jennie October 10, 2011 at 1:52 pm

and feast on irony.
This was my favorite part. By far.

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Stacia November 11, 2011 at 1:32 pm

I think I would have locked myself in the wrapping paper room. And scotch-taped some sort of packing-peanut pad together.
(Visiting from MEP’s. Nice to “meet” you!)

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dusty earth mother November 11, 2011 at 3:08 pm

Wow, thats actually brilliant. And what a mental image :-) Nice to meet you Stacia!

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Annette November 23, 2011 at 1:56 pm

That’s bloody good writing, Dust bunny. The details and suspense had me reading bug-eyed, w/ my hand over my mouth, for much of it. Thanks for sharing!!

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dusty earth mother November 23, 2011 at 2:07 pm

My dear girl! Thank you, and yes, skeeeery, right?

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Nancy November 27, 2011 at 5:20 pm

This story is why we really, really need to be better friends.
You are hilarious. remind me to tell you sometime about my friendship with a certain very famous NY Jewish film director’s very young wife. Not really hilarious. Just weird.

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dusty earth mother November 27, 2011 at 5:41 pm

Dont worry, Ill remind you :-)

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Sally Apollon December 22, 2011 at 3:51 pm

HI LA RI OUS

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Diane Tarantini January 16, 2012 at 11:05 am

I can’t believe you don’t have like, 2,000 comments on this post. Ha-Larious! I do the TP mock maxi pad thing ALL the time. ‘Cause I don’t usually carry a purse which means I have no place to put girly supplies.
Having your period is a pain but I’ve always said, I’d rather bleed a couple of days a month than go bald forever.

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dusty earth mother January 16, 2012 at 4:49 pm

Well, Diane, thats the best (and most random) saying Ive heard in a long time :-)

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Hillary July 2, 2012 at 1:23 pm

That was expertly told, but what a mentally-taxing ordeal! Oh, how I hate white – me and white just don’t get along. I once ruined my in-laws white, plush carpet with black boot polish and then again with red fingernail polish. I thought they’d put me in the garage next time I visited.
Your episode was much more forgiveable and alot funnier.

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Marinka August 8, 2012 at 3:55 am

Hysterical! And good thing you’ve only told this story to two people! ;)

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dusty earth mother August 8, 2012 at 6:30 am

Uh, yes, Marinka. A little more than two now. :-)

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Lisa Erb August 14, 2012 at 4:58 pm

I met you at BlogHer’12…didn’t exactly meet you, rather, I ran up to you and grabbed your arm to tell you how much you made me laugh the night before. I was the white- woman gushing and probably not making any sense asking you to add me to the list of the many who loved your presentation.
This was the funniest story ever on this not so funny experience we’ve all had to endure!

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dusty earth mother August 14, 2012 at 7:41 pm

Well, Lisa, Im assuming you meant white-haired woman not white woman, but heck, either way… :-) Yes, I remember you! And thanks for coming to visit me!

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Lisa Erb August 15, 2012 at 6:08 am

Oh my!!! Yes, I did mean white-haired. So sorry!

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Amanda September 15, 2012 at 6:43 pm

Well…way to keep a first-time visitor interested (rather, totally intrigued!). Your stories have kept me laughing for the past 20 minutes. Thank you!

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dusty earth mother September 15, 2012 at 8:05 pm

Youre welcome, Amanda! I hope youll come back for twenty more minutes soon. Ive got a few more stories for you. :-)

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Patty January 28, 2013 at 12:34 am

You are awesome. The amount of courage to sit on that chair…Woman power!

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