I would be a very rich woman if someone paid me every time I changed an empty toilet paper roll or worse restocked the bathroom with spare rolls. The moment when you sit down and see the roll, empty perhaps with a simple lone square hanging there, taunting you with its sheer futility. Thanks people in my house. That’s fantastic. The real joy is when you go to replace it and there are no spare rolls left. Not on the back of the toilet, not under the sink, not hiding under the tub. “J!!!!!!!” I bellow. “Sweeeeeeeeeetie!!!! Help!!!!” as I sit and wait for one of them to come rescue me with a spare roll.
Really, we buy this stuff by the tonnage from Costco, yet getting it to the right place when it needs to be is always a nightmare. The same principle applies to the hand soap dispenser. We’re trying to be green, so we buy refills for the pumps. Some might think that these are miraculous soap bottles, pouring out their clean little hearts ad infinitum. Sadly, no. Perhaps then the aforementioned elves are constantly refilling them? No again. Its me. Its me, its me, its me. I do it. Just like I put my OCD behavior to good work refilling the coffee maker and Brita jugs every night before bed, I restock the bathrooms.
Maybe I need to really mess with them. I wish I knew how to short sheet a bed. Trouble is, its my bed too. Swap the sugar for salt? Again, I’m a mess before I have my coffee so how can I remember the sabotage? Tonight I’ll lie awake thinking of ways to get even with them… if I don’t fall asleep.
The truth is, I only really care in that exact moment when you need to think the unthinkable (ie: drip dry… euw). So I’ll just happily carry on, planning ahead for each bathroom visit, never leaving anything to chance.