If ya’ wanna’ gather a crowd of disheartened and commiserating moms, start talking about empty toilet paper tubes.
The burden of this responsibility was cleverly veiled in the womanhood/motherhood/wifehood descriptions.
We knew we’d be entrusted to purchase the necessary commodity, the most necessary in the household, but we didn’t know we’d be solely responsible for the physical implementation.
Only the mother in the home can hang toilet paper. That’s a fact, based on 26 years of parenting experience and 28 years of marital experience.
The 2009 census estimated there’s 85.4 million mothers in the United States. Give or take a few million, that’s an average of 4 billion rolls of toilet paper hung each year, if each household uses one roll in one bathroom per week. Add a second bathroom, and that number is doubled. Add a week of flu, and that number will increase. Add a toddler who learned the happy trick of unrolling an entire roll by batting it with chubby, dimpled hands, and the number will sky-rocket.
But, I’m guessing the majority of the estimated 4 billion rolls were changed by women.
It’s not exactly that offspring and husbands can’t, they won’t. But in all fairness, I think the burden of remembering which direction the paper should hang is too much for any human being that hasn’t given birth. That one miraculous act prepares you for a lifetime of wisdom and service.
(Click on picture to read the previous post about my toilet paper troubles.)
After reading the above post on my plight of being the only one skilled enough to change the rolls of toilet paper for my household of eight, two dear friends from different states sent me a present.
They sent the same thing.
For five years these signs have hung in my bathrooms. For five years they have preached and promised a healthy, medical-intervention-free lifestyle if skilled actions were taken.
Over Christmas break I replaced one sign with a Christmas decoration. One of the women who gifted a sign visited my home. I hadn’t seen her for a few years. It was a special visit. She came out of the bathroom with an interesting look on her face. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown, more like the smirking, knowing, “This-Mommy-Has-Been-There-Done-That-Face.”
She had noticed the sign was gone.
She had noticed the toilet paper roll was empty.
She discovered there wasn’t any other toilet paper in the. entire. bathroom. Not a square to spare.
I hung the sign back up when the holiday decorations were packed away, wishing the power of suggestion would finally translate into action.
A girl can always hope, can’t she?
I crossed my fingers and toes, and considered poking a finger in my eye, but I wasn’t sure if I was remembering the chant correctly.
After two solid months of testing, the results are out.
Why, yes, I did actually leave those there for two months.
Just warning ya’. If you come visit me, bring your own toilet paper. There’s no help in sight for this extremely experienced trustee of the toilet paper.