Posts Tagged ‘toilet paper’

Seriously?

March 28, 2017

Once again, I thought I was being punked, or was on Candid Camera. Seriously, why do these things happen to me?

At the end of the Indiana Homeschool Convention, I traipsed to the ladies room before packing up by booth. There was one stall door in there that didn’t match the others. It was brown, obviously a replacement, and the rest were beige. Not only did the lone door make me want to sing “One of these things is not like the other” but it was the only gateway that didn’t rest in the closed position. All the beige doors looked like they were locked, even when they were guarding a vacant stall.

For some strange reason, I chose the loner door at 6:05 on Saturday night. As I entered my chosen throne room, I surmised, “This must be the most used stall because you have to bend over and look for shoes surrounded by pant legs to see if the others are available.” That should have been a clue to me. But no. I was a tad on the tired side… tuckered out… to say the least. I had just finished speaking six times. I LOVE speaking, but it can be draining.

Well, I was right. It WAS the most used stall and guess what it was plumb out of?????  Yep. TP.

It was too late for me to re-choose a new stall by the time I figured out my dilemma. Good gravy. Surrounded by silence, I wondered if I was alone in the bathroom. Oh, dear baby Jesus, please no.

Feebly I made public my private situation, “Help!”

No response.

With a little more gusto, “HELP! Is anyone out there?”

A lone woman was with me, and probably trying to ignore the first call for assistance. Her entire response was, “Yes.” Seriously? Couldn’t she have asked what I needed? Or how she could help? But I guess she did answer my question.

Pleading, I requested that she hand me some toilet paper. “Sure.” My prayers were being answered. I heard toilet paper being removed from a receptacle in another stall. Then my guardian angel asked which stall I was in… because the only one that stays open was shut and locked in front of my nose and knees.

Sticking my hand out under the door, she placed the golden paper in my fist…. all three squares of it. Seriously? At first I thought it was funny. Personally, I have handed my daughter two squares when she asked for help in my same precarious position. BUT THEN I HANDED HER A WAD and we laughed!

My guardian angel left. Exited the lavatory. The exterior door shutting behind her was the last noise heard in the bathroom… until I started laughing. Seriously?

I folded those three precious squares very carefully.  VERY carefully.

But it was not Candid Camera. I did not get punked. It was real life in a day of Laughing with Linda. I’m thankful I can provide entertainment for others.

You’re welcome.

Leg Cramposaurus

November 27, 2016

This is a continuing saga from the Golden birthday post of yesterday.

The night of the party, I assumed I would sleep well after cooking 27 million street tacos, three large pans of creamy chicken enchiladas and cutting 75 pieces of chocolate cake. But no. Realization hit… more like burned… that this agony may be more than a muscle cramp in my thigh. There was no possible sleeping position that didn’t produce pain. For three nights I sat in my green birthday chair in my room praying to fall into unconsciousness.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

One of those three nights, I had forgotten my earplugs and once again I assumed I would be able to sleep without them because that was a less pain-filled decision then walking across the room to get the earplugs. Wrong again. I love earplugs. The end.

Still, on Monday, DAY #4, I assumed the pain would eventually go away. Nada. On Tuesday morning, firmly poised in my green birthday chair after a fitful night of cat naps, I phoned the doctor’s office for an immediate appointment.

My son delivered me to the physician’s office at 9:00 a.m. As you may have anticipated, I was not looking my best with possibly 15 hours of sleep in four days. In my experience, the worse you look going to the doctor, the better your chances are of getting action and results. The nurse practitioner acted like this was so ordinary… a thigh cramp… no big deal… “It’s your sciatic nerve. We will give you pain meds and also steroids to reduce the swelling.” Again, I assumed I would be down and out for a few more day.

Two minimal hours later, I was singing the praises of modern medicine and was relatively pain free for the first time in five days. I love meds. The end.

The end of my expressions of love. Not the end of the story.

Two days later, at the family Thanksgiving dinner table, someone suggested that we go around the table and spew forth our thankfulness. I started. I yelled, “I am thankful for drugs!” And it was true from the depths of my being. My soul sang of unquenchable passion for pain medication. My new love.

I assumed I was home free in the pain area. Then the inevitable struck… the other result of taking pain medication…. my belly and bowels full of three days of food not wanting to leave me without a painful, tear-filled fight. I cursed the meds I had previously been in love with just shy of two days ago. I cursed modern medicine. How come they can’t invent non-constipating pain pills??? What’s so hard about that? No pun intended. I cursed the non-plush toilet paper. I cursed the cold, hard toilet seat.

My son-in-law is in med school currently and was visiting for Thanksgiving, so quite naturally I inquired why pain medicine also causes bowel issues. My youngest son chimed in, “Are you asking for a friend?” Mr. Med School explained the corresponding effects and I replied, “I’ll let her know.”

Like the clouds parting after a storm, glee hit my soul when I remembered stool softeners. (I apologize if you are eating, or were eating while reading.) (I probably should have put a gross-out, middle-aged warning on this post.) (Sorry!) To my sheer delight I found a jar of expired stool softeners in the medicine cabinet. Glory be! I believe I heard angels singing as I tossed back three of those little red and white glistening darlings.

You guessed it. The next morning I was singing the praises of modern medicine again. Call me fickle, or delusional, or temperamental, or easily swayed, but this is my story and I’m sticking to it. True love. Pain free true love.

I assume I am not the only one on Earth to have gone through these conflicting emotions with modern medicine. My sincerest hope is that this post will allow a pain-free existence to someone else on the planet currently cursing modern medicine, and rough toilet paper and chilly toilet seats.

 

This was a First for ME!

March 30, 2014

Toilet paper is apparently a current topic in my life.  Some of our children’s friends TP’d our house a few weeks ago and due to the extremely pokey trees we have in the yard, there are remnants of the prank still waving at us. Even our tall son and his hockey stick couldn’t remedy the situation. My extremely frugal husband was thrilled to find five rolls of TP with 3/4 of the goods still on the roll! We have been saving money left and right from this yardly joke.

This morning after church, I was visiting the ladies room and when I arrived in my chosen stall, I noticed a huge white rose where the toilet paper should have been. I did see the elderly lady who left the stall before me, and I wrongly assumed that it was a silk rose to clip in her hair that she inadvertently left behind. Upon closer inspection…. not so. The sweet dear had taken the time to make a toilet paper rose…. FOR ME!

toilet paper rose

Never in my life have I seen a TP rose! It made me smile. The thoughtfulness of that little lady. All for me. I feel the need to find a how-to-make-a-TP-rose video on youtube so I can pay it forward.

Wasn’t that nice of her!?!

The TP Nazi Rises Again

March 9, 2013

The TP Nazi topic has come up here before.  Yes, I am the TP Nazi in this house…. and any other house where I am staying long enough for more than one sit down.  But for today, I shall leave alone the topic of which way the paper rolls off the roll.

Today’s topic: empty cardboard rolls and the uncaring, or possibly unaware, people who leave them in their wake.  GAH!  I am pretty sure that I am the only one in our family of SIX who places the new roles on the dispenser in our downstairs Elvis bathroom.  What I am not sure about is how it is always perfectly the right amount of TP for the last person…. makes me wonder…. did they plan it? Did they skimp?  Probably none of my business, I know.

tp roll

Even in our master bedroom bath, my sweet husband does get a new roll of TP out of the cupboard, but leaves it on the floor right under where it should be placed on the roller.  It’s OKAY!  I’m here.  I got it!  Please don’t go through any extra effort while you’re in there.  Relax. I got your back.  From my childhood, I remember my father calling this the “height of laziness.”  Wise man.

Yesterday, however, I was shopping at a mom and pop used bookstore for about two hours and I needed to visit their facilities. Low an behold… the cardboard roll was waiting for me, making me feel at home in this home away from home.  After digging through their supply closet, I restocked the dispenser and went on my happy way, knowing that I just made life easier for another person and had done my job that I’m called to do here on earth.

Seriously, if I didn’t spend my time as the TP Nazi, there would be empty rolls all over the Valley of the Sun!  If you go into a bathroom in Phoenix and the roll is new and coming over the top, know that I was there before you and thought of you.  :o)  You’re welcome, people.

Let the Good Times ROLL

March 18, 2008

tp

Toilet paper is an American family enigma that is not going away anytime soon.  I have yet to meet a family that consists of two or more family members, where one is NOT a Toilet Paper Nazi.  I mean, really.  If you’re going to buy cheap, flimsy, poke-my-fingers-through TP, then I need to use at least one-and-a-half good spins to adequately polish off the job.

I have fond teenage memories of gathering around the dinner table with Dad, Mom, my older brother and younger sister, and listening to my father’s lecture about toilet paper usage violations.  Distinctly I can still hear the deep, baritone voice commanding, “If you are a scruncher, you need to become a folder.”  And thus I embarked on my folding days, which have served me well for twenty-something years.  (I have saved my husband million$ of dollar$ during the past 21 years, thanks to my father’s wisdom.)

Yesterday, I asked my brother if he remembered that family “talk.”  He replied in his money-minded, business-like manner, “No, but I’ve always been a folder, so it wasn’t something that applied to me.”  Then he proceeded to tell me that everyone in his family uses too much bathroom tissue, exceptions include only himself and his diapered son.  (See!  He’s the TP Nazi in his house.)  He mentioned one infraction when he heard the roll spin faster than a centrifuge.  He wanted to yell, “I hope you’re cleaning the whole bathroom with that!”  But didn’t.

Since my conversion to Coupon Sense, we have, for the first time in our married life, purchased QUALITY toilet paper.  (It was on sale AND there was a coupon, making it less expensive than the bargain brand!)  Only being familiar with the cheap goods, this new stuff feels like 12 ply.  Sweet luxury at my disposal.  Unknowingly, I married a TP Nazi, and he stood true to form after the new flannel-soft privy paper appeared in our powder room.  Rick yelled from the john one night, “I hope you’re using less of this toilet paper now that we have this good stuff.”   I assured him that I was still a folder, ….but only twice now.

In the early hours of the morning, necessity called and I made enough movements getting out of bed to ensure Rick’s wakeful state.  After sitting there in the dark for several minutes, I yanked on the paper harder than I ever have and that baby spun as fast as my front-loading washing machine on full tilt.  Rick hollered from the bed, “I bet you had to put your arm way over your head to make it spin that fast.”  Oh, did we laugh.  Undeviating from his economical character he added, “You better be rolling that back on there!”  I could not stop laughing.  O.K., I was really overtired, but it still makes me smile.

Who’s the TP Nazi in your home?  If you can’t think of anyone else, it’s probably YOU!