It occurred to me after I had been on the treadmill for 20 minutes (I’m building myself up to 30 before I actually turn it on), that it was time I ‘fessed up: Yes, blog readers, in direct violation of Mr. Whipple’s orders, I’ve squeezed the Charmin.
I’ve gotten better in recent years, containing myself in the supermarket. But there’s still the rebel deep down inside of me that still wants to defy Mr. Whipple, the guy from the old Charmin TV commercials who exclaimed, “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin!” I’ve looked everywhere for a Charmin Squeezers Anonymous support group, but I haven’t had any luck.
There’s no patch. No gum. I can’t be alone out there, can I?