Ever since the day Alanis Morisette burst upon the scene with her linguistically erroneous ditty about unfortunate coincidence, I've been a little confused about what, exactly, constitutes irony. Is it really just a case of having 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife? I think not. I think that's just a pain in the ass. Maybe if you can only find 10,000 spoons when you need a knife one day, and then the next day you need a spoon but all you find are thousands of knives? Yes, I think that's irony.
So how about this. Today I was doing research in the archive at the Nicaraguan Ministry of Health. In the midst of reading endless tomes about the importance of promoting good hygiene to reduce levels of contagious disease, I suddenly needed to use the restroom. "Yay!" I thought. "Potty break!" Not that potty time is really all that exciting, but it was a reason to get up from the table and walk around, which made me happy. So off I trotted to the bathrooms, where I found that in THE MINISTRY OF G.D. HEALTH there is neither toilet paper nor soap. Let me repeat. No toilet paper. No soap. Ministry of Health. Is that ironic? I don't know. But I do know this: it'll be their own fault if I inadvertently set off an epidemic of contagious disease. "That's right, you lousy sons'a'bitches!" I'll holler, as they drag me off in handcuffs for being a disease carrier and a menace to public welfare. "You can call me Typhoid Cheasty. Now stock your bathrooms with Palmolive and Cottonelle!"