Sandbox Satire

Sandbox Satire

Toilet Paper Police

I have a confession..........I'm a member of an elite, though essential group, made up primarily of housewives and conservationists. In fact, I'm willing to bet that I qualify as the president of the group. Membership is free but comes at a hefty price. You have to be stern, steadfast and unyielding to become a member of this organization: The Toilet Paper Police.

I was nominated for membership by my mother before I even reached my teens. The conditioning began early. "Don't use so much toilet paper, It doesn't grow on trees you know!", she would tell me all the time. This set a precedent in my mind that toilet paper was a precious commodity that was to be valued and cherished above gold.

My obsession began as a concern for the well-being of mankind. Toilet Paper, like Copper, would soon become extinct if not used in moderation. For the first year or two after I was married, I held my tongue. I'd watch in horror as my husband would spin the toilet paper roll like he was spinning the Wheel of Fortune shooting for the $10,000 slot. I'd sit by aghast as he would wrap the paper around his hand with such unabashed greed that would make even the most honorable Egyptian Mummy turn green with envy.

After a few years, I started to assert myself, saying things like, "Don't you know how much toilet paper costs these days?" and "Did you know that if you cut your toilet paper usage in half, we could invest the money saved to put both our children through college?". I even resorted to hanging the toilet paper roll with the paper flowing from the underside of the roll instead over the top in the hopes that the restricted flow would cut down on the amount consumed. It didn't work, he would just remove the roll and switch it back to the over the top mode.

I silently envied the paper dispensers found in public bathrooms that dispense only 3-4 sheets at a time before the roll mechanism locks. Eventually, I'm now ashamed to admit, I contacted their manufacturer and installed them in our home. It didn't work. My husband used one of my hair pins to pick the lock.

The final straw was when my husband was in the bathroom one day reading his paper, doing his business, when he reached for the roll and gave it a "Final Spin". Alarms blasted, sirens rang, lights flashed and I burst into the room blowing my police whistle, shouting "Stop, you T.P. squanderer. You know only 4 sheets are allowed for normal potty breaks......Up to 10 in absolute emergencies!".

It took 6 months of therapy and nightly Neurotics Anonymous meetings before I was finally cured of my obsession with toilet paper. The proof came the day my husband led me into the bathroom and stood by supportingly while I spun the roll, wadded up the unused paper and flushed it down the toilet without any hesitation or feeling of remorse. "That's great honey, welcome back!", he said as he walked away.

I smiled to myself with satisfaction in the knowledge that toilet paper would no longer be predominate in my thoughts. It didn't need me anymore to fight it's cause. I turned my back to the roll and headed to the kitchen where the roll of paper towels perched on the counter was screaming for my help.

My Room!
Why do men always have to have 'a room'? When I got married, I thought I was going to share the rest of my life and space with my husband. It never crossed my mind that I would be banned from "his room". Women call these rooms the garage, or the Study, or the work room, or the Shed, but to a man, it is HIS ROOM!

I tried to go into my husband's room the other night (also known as the garage) and nearly got my head bit off. "What are you doing in here?", he snapped. "Uh, I just came out to put some laundry in the washing machine", I answered. "Well, don't you knock first?", he growled. Bewildered, I responded, "but honey, this is the garage"! "And can't you see I'm working here?", he prodded. Of course it had escaped me that waxing the car constituted work!

Last night he stepped outside the bounds of reason when he claimed two rooms for himself. I could accept his taking over the garage, (who really wants to go in there anyway!), but when he also laid claim on our den, I had to put my foot down!

I had gone out grocery shopping and came home to find a DO NOT DISTURB sign perched in the center of the Den door. Of course, I knocked. He opened the door and glared at me, "Can't you read"! "Oh yes," I responded, "I can read, I just don't comprehend very well. I thought the garage was your room?" "Well, it's too hot out there", he replied. "FOUL!", I yelled. "You wanted a room, and you got it, now out of here and back to your personal Nirvana!", I said ever so forcefully.

The look on my face must have convinced him of my sincerity and he started to whimper, "But, honey, it's too hot out there! My puzzle pieces will start to swell in the humidity". Without a trace of compassion I said, "Well you should have thought about that when you picked 'YOUR ROOM'!"

With his head hung low and his tail dragging, he resigned himself to being banished and headed towards the garage. It might be his room, but it's my house!

These articles have been chosen as featured manuscripts for May in the

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