Moist. Not Pleasantly.

Story Sent in by Lara:

I used to volunteer at an environmental charity and while I was there, I met Chad. He was a few years older than I was and had been volunteering there for longer. Still, he was closest in age to me, and we struck up a decent friendship. It progressed to him asking me out to ice cream and dinner. "Dessert first," he said, and I went for it.

We met up at an ice cream place, he paid, I thanked him, and we walked for a bit. Not too long into it, some melted ice cream ended up on my hand. I went to quickly and genteelly lick it off when he instantly produced a sealed pack of moist napkins from his pocket.

I said, "Thanks, but I'm good," and I took care of the ice cream issue on my own.

He held the napkins out to me and said, "Take them. I have plenty more. And they're better for the environment than dry napkins."

I didn't know that. "They are?"

He replied, "Because you can reuse them." He pulled one out of his pocket that was scrunched into a little ball and heavily discolored. "I use one per week on average. They're great. Take them. I have pretty much a lifetime supply."

I said, "Really, I'm all set. But thanks."

He looked at me as if to ask if I was really sure, then stuffed them back into his pocket hastily. We walked in an ever-more-uncomfortable silence for about a minute before he stopped and said, "It's not like I use them multiple times to wipe my ass."

I stopped, too. "What?"

He pulled out the napkin pack again and held them up to my face. "I go through about one pack when I take a dump, but just one pack, all right?"

"I… uh… okay."

"They do a better job and are better for the environment than toilet paper. Just one little pack of these is enough. Less wasteful."

"Good."

He put them back into his pocket and chuckled to himself, "I mean, it feels like a cold, clammy hand against my ass, but what are you going to do, right?"

I nodded. "Right."

He took them out of his pocket again and said, "Look, would you just take them? I'd feel better, knowing that you had them on you."

Without a word, I took them and put them in my bag. We continued walking. Then, to break the silence again, he said, "I mean, you don't have to use them to wipe your ass. You can do what you want with them. I use them for a lot, but you can work your way into integrating them into your life."

"Thanks. I sure will."

I sure didn't, nor did I have anything more than a purely professional relationship with him from there on in.