Disclosure: I am writing for and being compensated by Cottonelle for this blog post.
I’ve had great fun being a brand ambassador for Cottonelle’s Let’s Talk Bums campaign. Not only have I helped to spread the word about a worthy product, but my bathroom humor has reached a new high, or low, depending on how you look at such things.
As my ambassadorship comes to an end, I want to share a story that until now has been kept under wraps, and for good reason. A story that, I swear on a stack of Cottonelle Toilet Tissue Rolls, is 100% true.
When I was a kid I spent several summers at an overnight camp in the Catskills. Camp High Point was where I learned how to shoot a bow and arrow, memorize Color War songs and gulp glasses of bug juice.
My favorite part of camp, though, was horseback riding. Putting on my riding gear and running down
the big hill to the stables filled me with joy. Sometimes I would have a lesson in the corral; other times I went on group trail rides through the leafy foothills.
One day I learned that I was one of several campers who had qualified for an overnight ride. That meant that we would saddle up mid-afternoon, head out on the trails and set up camp when we reached our destination a few miles away. For a wrangler wannabe like me, this was a dream come true.
In a single line we walked our horses along a quiet country road, their hooves clop clopping and tails swishing, and came to a rocky path on the right that led us up the mountain to a clearing where we set up camp. The counselors cooked burgers over a fire and later we roasted marshmallows and sang camp songs under a sliver of moonlight.
When it was time to roll out our sleeping bags for the night, I looked around, hoping to see, like an oasis in a desert, a public restroom. In this wilderness? Not a chance. Into the woods I would go, flashlight in hand.
I left the cozy warmth of the dying embers, stepping gingerly over fallen tree branches to a spot I deemed bathroom-worthy. I kicked off my boots and stripped down to get ‘er done.
The weak beam of light from my flashlight flickered once or twice and then extinguished, as did any hope of making this task quick and easy. Darkness enveloped me with cold arms. I heard the hoot of an owl and shivered.
Done. Jeans are back on. Boots are … where did I toss my boots? I felt helpless as I blindly patted the ground around me.
Ah, there they are. I put one on and reached for the second one. As my foot slipped in, I encountered a soft resistance, a mushiness, and then … I gasped in horror.
I did. It was.
Mortified, holding the reeking boot at arm’s length, I stumbled back to the campsite where my distress was greeted first with disbelief and then whoops of laughter. My face was aflame with embarrassment as everyone howled.
This dreadful deed ultimately earned me an invitation to the camp’s exclusive and coveted Nut Club, whose members had also committed equally embarrassing experiences and probably could tell their stories all these years later, too.
If Cottonelle’s Flushable Wipes had been around back then, this story might have had a happier ending.
And now that I’ve bared all, take a look at Cherry Healey’s video about cleaning your bumpers. And don’t forget to join us on Facebook and on Twitter with #LetsTalkBums.
