The battle is over and I am declared victorious. Take that you toilet paper usin' and abusin' motherfucker! You thought I would capitulate on Saturday morning, didn't you? You thought I would give in when I was scouring the sink and the toilet. Oh yes. You sat there on the bed, all smug-like, reading your New York Times. Whilst I sprayed and scrubbed, you pretended like you weren't closely watching to see what I would do. And then you made your way to the bathroom, probably presuming that during my bathroom cleaning endeavors I had slid the forlorn little cardboard tube off the metal thingamajig and replaced it with a fresh roll of Quilted Northern.

But you were wrong, dude! I left it there for you because I'll be goddamned if I was going to change it again. Sure it only takes twenty seconds. Well, there was that one time when I was drunk and had to change it with fumbling, sweating fingers. It took a few tries but even then I managed it in under a minute. But you. You! You seem not to notice the empty roll dangling there, nary a shred of toilet paper to be found clinging to the cardboard. Oh, you had no trouble opening a new roll of toiletpaper. No problemo. You must have been in there a good, half hour. Plenty of time to read five or six articles in the New York Post and tear open that fresh package of toilet paper. But apparently there was no time to slide that new roll of TP onto the thing. Instead you sat the fresh roll on the back of the toilet where it could fall into the toilet at any time! Must've just forgot to change the roll, right? Forgot my ass. I'm onto you mister.

Our toilet paper impasse continued into Sunday. That morning, when nature called I again saw that empty cardboard roll mocking me from it's vantage point next to the toilet. In my sleepy haze I automatically began to remove the tube - even got so far as to release the cylinder toilet paper holder from it's home. That was your plan, wasn't it? But I'm wise to you, you wily son-of-a-gun.
"Well played". I chuckled to myself. You almost had me. I very nearly fell right into your little toilet paper trap. Almost. But you have to wake up pret-ty early in the morning to pull the wool (or toilet paper as the case may be) over these discerning baby blues. And then I one-upped you. Instead of taking the mature, adult route and just replacing the empty cardboard roll already I slid the empty tube back on the cylinder and clipped it into place. It's all about principles, buddy. I used a liberal amount of the TP you left sitting haphazardly on the back of the toilet and put that roll on the floor.
"Checkmate, motherfucker."

This morning I anxiously waited for you to finish your daily constitutional and leave for the gym. With great trepidation I stepped onto the battlefield we call a bathroom in reconnaissance for the toilet paper carnage that surely awaited. And what to my wondering eyes did appear? A fresh roll of toilet paper is hanging proudly from the silver cylinder, flapping gently - a white flag of peace. Sure the toilet paper is unrolling from the bottom instead of the top like it's supposed to! But I am still declaring victory. One small step for womankind, one giant leap for Monica.