Before you criticize Trump’s new press secretary for rooting against everything black, you must acknowledge that everyone hates something.
For me, it’s balled up tissue.
After every church service, when I arrived home, my grandmother would make me dump out the discarded Kleenexes from her pocketbook (which is different than a “purse”—you have to be in the official line of succession for Mother of the Church to own a “pocketbook”). I still shudder to think what was hidden inside those wads of single-serve toilet paper. Had she simply wiped away some well-earned Holy Ghost tears or were the tissues concealing a coughed-up loogie? Did the facial wipes contain a series of secret messages between usher board members or was I discarding the half-eaten peppermints that all church ladies were legally required to carry?
Fortunately, I never looked but there is a long list of things that annoy me, including: