I'm Pooped

Whilst reading my email in the bathroom, I had an Archimedes Eureka! moment that gave me the perfect idea for a blog. Interestingly, most of my blog ideas stem from some sort of bathroom activity.

Anyway, I was changing my toilet paper roll, and while smashing the roll into the holder and subsequently (and unsuccessfully) wresting some paper from the now oblong roll, I wondered how we, as society, evolved from normal rolls of toilet paper to rolls that resemble Big Wheel tires that oftentimes don’t even fit into standard sized roll holders.

Granted, original rolls are, indeed, too small. My boyfriend refers to them as “single use” rolls because (and shhhh don’t tell him) he tends to spend a lot of time in the little boys’ room.) But I digress.

Then we were introduced to double rolls. Okay, that makes sense especially for those who tend to use more than their fair share of the product (cough-boyfriend-cough.)

But, wait! The paper industry powers that be rolled out (pun intended) jumbo rolls. Again, these were good because we, er most of us, didn’t have to change them as frequently, and they still fit on the roll holder.

Then, lo and behold, what’s this I see? Mega rolls which are four baby rolls packed into one. However, given the nature of human beings to always want more and bigger and better, introducing (drum roll please) jumbo mega rolls. These are approximately the equivalent of, what, ten regular rolls? All I know is that they don’t fit on my roll holders, and I’m certainly not going to invest in a decorative freestanding toilet paper rack when I have perfectly good rollers attached to the side of my cabinets. Besides, I’m a klutz, and invariably, the holder and I will be involved in some sort of collision. Repeatedly.

In fact, the last time I went toilet paper shopping, I couldn’t even find anything smaller than jumbo mega rolls. I always look for the best bargain in a cost-per-roll calculation. Did I want the nine-pack that is equivalent to 84 regular rolls or the 32-pack that was the equivalent of 812 regular rolls. I didn’t feel like doing math, so I just got the Charmin with the green label that I particularly like. And it was on sale to boot.

What’s next Procter & Gamble, Georgia-Pacific, and Kimberly Clark? Gigarolls? One enormous roll packaged like those giant five-pound Hershey Kisses or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? (I love Reese’s by the way.)

I can’t wait.

Bite Your Tongue

I hate being called “ma’am.” Yes, I know “hate” is a strong word and leaves a bad taste in some people’s mouths. So, I ask these folks, what would you prefer? Abhor? Detest? Loathe? Despise? Insert your preferred word, but I’m going to stick with “hate.” Because I do.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand that those who utter it (as well as “sir”) do so out of respect, and kudos to their parents for instilling within their children manners and respect because, Lord knows, there is a huge shortage of manners in today’s world (a topic best left for another rant.)

Anyway, back to “ma’am.”

What would I rather be called? Oh, how about ANYTHING else: “miss” or “mizz”, perhaps? “Madam”, maybe (even though I don’t own a brothel.) Even “sir”, “bro”, or “dude” is preferable to “ma’am”. As someone who is deep in the throes of a midlife crisis that has been ongoing for, oh, 13 years, anything that makes me uber cognizant of the fact that I am, despite my utter contempt for the word, middle-aged needn’t be said. Ever.

I’m doing a fantastic job of fighting this whole aging thing. Seriously, I am. Not only do I not look my age, I neither feel nor act it, thanks to a (mostly) healthy diet, regular exercise, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs, outstanding skin care, and good genes. I oftentimes pass for late 30’s-early 40’s, and this removes a bit of the sting from being called “ma’am” and my ever-increasing age.

Oh, by the way, I’m looking for a fake ID that makes me 34 again, so if anyone knows anyone in the “creative printing” business, please let me know.