The Toilet Paper Chronicles

(post copyright 2013, Dawn Weber)

Tell me: Is it too much to ask?



Yes. Yes, apparently, it is.


Lord knows, I've tried. I've requested. I've instructed. I've coached. I've begged, pleaded and cajoled.


I've cried.


It's a metaphor for parenting, really. Just as in life, children use it all up, and leave you with none. They take and take and give you nothing, bleed you dry.


Or wet as the case may be.


But you hope and you pray and you think that maybe, someday, things will be different - they'll give back to you all that you've given to them. So you go back in, you sit down, you say a little prayer, and you turn your head and look.

What do you see? You see this:




As you can tell by the pictures, I even went out and bought a gadget that's simple - a veritable TP Holder for Dummies and Children. You can imagine my excitement when I found this particular device. It's designed with an easy on/off spindle. You simply A: Slide cardboard off; and B: Slide new roll on. There's nothing complicated here, no removal of spring-loaded rods, no messing around with various parts. Off . . . on.


I called to the kids. I pulled them into the bathroom and demonstrated the procedure.


"Look, you guys, how easy!" I said, sliding the spool back and forth. "You can do this now - you can replace the toilet paper! Off . . . on! Off . . . on! Easy!"


I trembled with joy.


They yawned and went back to their iPods.

What did I get, on the next empty roll? I got this:

And people wonder why I drink.


Still, some headway was made here. I was left with a new roll, though I didn't see it until I'd already reached under the counter, refilled the holder, wiped, flushed and cussed out those two rugrats.


But in my heart, a small flicker of hope ignited, because as a wise, wise woman named Whitney Houston once said:

"I believe that children are our future

Teach them well and let them lead the way . . ."

So I waited for the future. I had, I believed, taught them well. I let them lead the way.

Then, one day, a day like any other, I walked in, I sat down, I took a deep breath, and looked to the left, and I saw this:

You? You'd probably call that a TP FAIL.


But I? I call it progress.


Half-assed progress.

And, sure as shit, I'll take it.

________________________________________________________________________

So inspired was I by the TP chronicles that I wrote a chapter for my upcoming book about it. Here is an excerpt, the . . .

Toilet Paper Replacement Super-Procedure:

1. Make sure that you're settled in, half naked and releasing bodily fluids before checking TP situation. Turn head and see: cardboard.

2. Cuss. Like a f*cking sailor.


3. Rise from the toilet. Ensure pants are wrapped around the ankles, and whatever you were excreting drips swiftly down your legs.


4. Shuffle awkwardly to bathroom cupboard, open, and peer in: Drano, Tampax, Comet cleanser. But no toilet paper. Not even a box of tissues.


5. Cuss. Like a f*cking sailor.


6. Yell loudly, "Can someone bring me a roll of mother-&*^($%**# TOILET PAPER!" Repeat several times. Then remember that you're the only one home. . . "

Stay tuned!