My wife and I have differing opinions about how to put away laundry. While I agree that button-down shirts and fancy slacks need to be hung neatly, I am more than happy to cram my socks, running shirts, underwear, or jeans into their appropriate cram-holes. I'm not exactly sure why Hank wants me to fold my underwear? Why should they get such royal treatment when I'm just going to put my ass in them?|
That's not really my main point though. It's just the prologue.
So, I went grocery shopping last weekend and none of my usual toilet paper choices were in stock. I picked some other random pack and moved on. It was only days later, when I was sitting on my throne, that I discovered the horror of my purchase: one ply!
Ugh, I can't believe I accidentally bought the world's worst toilet paper. To address the situation, I've been complaining about the toilet paper non-stop.
Me: Gah! Ugh! I hate that one ply! It takes me FOREVER to wipe my butt now.
Hank: Do you know what your problem is?
Me: Yes! My problem is that the toilet paper is SINGLE PLY.
Hank: No, your problem is that you're a crammer. You wipe your butt like you put away your laundry.
Me: What?! No! I am not just cavalierly grabbing a handful of one-ply and thrusting it at my ass. What takes so damn long is folding and folding and folding those wafer-thin plys.
Hank: Just fold it up.
Me: Just fold it up?!?! I have to ensure that every wipe puts as many molecules of toilet paper as possible between my hand and my feces! I'm folding like crazy in there! I'm making origami cranes and paper airplanes. It takes a freakin' Noah's Arkplane of one-ply to get cleaned up! Houdini couldn't get out of that bathroom any faster.
Hank: It really shouldn't take all that effort.
Me: Woman, have you seen what comes out of my butt?
That pretty much won the argument right there.