The Toilet Paper Roll War

          I am certain that this strikes you as a strange subject to write about, but I assure you, it has become an issue in our home. Am I the only person in this house that can change out a roll of toilet paper? Along with the first question comes a second, how do three sheets left on the roll constitute a reason to not change it?

            I have asked the question once a week for the past fifteen years. What is so hard about it?  If you see three sheets left on the roll, change it. What can you do with three sheets? Nothing, so why leave the roll?

            When this is presented in the calmest voice imaginable to the Admiral and Princesses, I’m greeted with silence, blank stares, maybe even a roll of the eyes, and then, “Why are you yelling at me?” I swear, I did not yell. I am convinced that this is a ploy women use to divert a man’s focus. It works.

            The Admiral did answer once, saying, “I don’t want to see them (the last three sheets) go to waste.” Okay, I'm down with that, save a tree, go green, there’s value in that, so why not take the last three otherwise useless sheets off the tube, change the roll, and place the sheets on top of the new roll to be used by the next person? Her response, see paragraph three.

            I have begun to think that the women I cohabit with do not know how to change the roll, but this cannot be true. The facility downstairs, the most often used, has a decoratively painted dowel notched on either end, which sits in corresponding grooves to hold it. You pick it up, no springs to collapse, or anything else mechanical, slide the empty or nearly empty roll off, put on a full one and set in back. “How can that be so hard?” I ask. 

            See paragraph three.

            The Princesses' bathroom is upstairs between their two rooms. I seldom journey up there unless I want to hunt wild beasts lurking in the piles of worn-ten-minutes-then-discarded-to-the-corner clothes, but seeing that this issue needed investigating, I ventured forth.

            What I suspected was true, but with a twist. There was a roll with three sheets hanging on the dispenser and on the floor were two other rolls in varying stages of use. “Maybe they really don’t know how to change the roll,” I told myself.

            With the best of intentions, I called the ladies upstairs for the express purpose of demonstrating the task. When gathered, I begin my instruction and demonstration. The results were fearfully predictable. See paragraph three.

            I don’t get it. Why is this so difficult? Is it just me? Of course, I am the one out of step, the faulty part. Maybe I’ll just take the holders off the wall and use that space for…I can’t think of anything.  I would ask the Admiral and Princesses for ideas, but I’m afraid of paragraph three.

            Since I have broached the toilet paper subject, I might as well explore another point of contention between the Admiral and me. Which is the proper placement of the roll on the spindle, the tailing sheet against the wall, or rudely intruding into the space of the room? Can you guess my preference? I try not to show bias here.

            “Doesn’t it make more sense,” I say, “and isn’t it more aesthetically (I throw in big words on occasions during “discussions” to have my point taken seriously) pleasing to have the tailing end of the roll against the wall? It doesn’t protrude into the room waving its little hand as if to say, ‘Here I am, use me’.” 

            I cringe, fearing a paragraph three response, but receive, “It’s easier to use when it points toward you and you pull from the top. You have to hunt for the end when it hangs against the wall.”

            There is weakness in her argument, but as I am about to exploit it, I see her eyes start to roll, and by now, I know when to quit. As you can see, we are at an impasse, aesthetically pleasing vs. utilitarian availability.

            To solve this dilemma, I thought I would allow the Princesses to have a say, thinking they would see the clear side of the argument. I did not get the results for which I held hope. 

            The sixteen-year-old, who I interrupted while obsessing over her Facebook page, looked at me and said, “Whatever”.  The fifteen-year-olds’ response was a brilliant rendition of the dreaded paragraph three. She is a student of the Admiral. You would think I would have learned.

            I know I should give up. This is a battle of the sexes, and being outnumbered, I know I cannot win. I ask myself, “Is this the hill I want to die on?”

            The answer is, “Yes”.

            I will not stop my efforts to show my way is superior. I just need to change tactics. Sun Tuz says in his ancient and famous treatise, "The Art of War", that all warfare is based on deception. When I get the opportunity to change the roll, I will continue to lay the tailing end against the wall, and if the Admiral or Princesses ever change a roll, they will do the opposite, but as Confucius says, "Persistence furthers." From now on, silent protests will be my way, stealth roll-changing the tactic. 

            Please don’t think me cowardly. I am not afraid of paragraph three, well, maybe a little, but, I swear, I’m just changing my approach. I am not giving up. I wonder if tackling the toothpaste squeezing issue would be easier.