In my recent request for blogging ideas, Dguzman challenged me to write about toilet paper. Well, it just so happens that I DO have a story involving toilet paper.
We moved into the house we live in now in 2005 (and yes, it's worth about 80,000 dollars less than what we paid for it then). Our house is a ranch, built in 1969, all on one level. It has four bedrooms and two bathrooms. One of the bathrooms is attached to the master bedroom, and it is used by me. The other bathroom is in the hallway and it's used by my husband and two sons. By the way, I think that this is an entirely fair and reasonable allocation of bathroom resources. I share when necessary.
So we moved into the house in June 2005, when our sons, now 7 and 4, were 4 and eight months. My husband is a police officer, and our new house was part of his patrol area, so we had cops here ALL THE TIME. Our house very quickly became the break station and social hub of the Montgomery County Police Department.
(are you wondering yet where the toilet paper comes in?)
One night a week or so after we moved in, my husband was about to take a shower, and told me that one of his friends was going to stop by and drop something off. It was 10 pm or so, so I was sitting in bed, watching TV, and hoping no one would knock and make me get out of the bed. The knock came almost immediately. I got out of bed to answer the door, and no one was there. Asshole, I thought. Totally not funny. I looked out the window, and saw only our cars. Hmm, I thought...was there an emergency? Did he have to jump back in his cruiser and rush to the scene of a crime? I returned to bed.
Knock knock knock.
Out of bed, back to the door. No one. OK, I thought to myself. I know that wasn't Hernandez. It's probably a bunch of kids playing knock and run. Maybe I should stand here for a few minutes and catch them? Nah. I'll go back to bed.
Husband was out of the shower by then. "Did Hernandez stop by?" he asked.
"I thought he did", I said. "Someone knocked twice, but it must have been some dumbass kids, because there was no one there".
End of discussion. Until the next day. I was putting away some laundry in the bedroom and heard the knocking again. Very rapid, hard knocking, same as I'd heard the night before. Ha ha! I thought, as I sprinted for the door. I'll get you little mofos this time.
Gone. Wow, I thought. Whoever is doing this can RUN. I went back to my laundry basket.
The next day, I was unpacking one of the last few boxes. I was in the bedroom again. I had not yet considered the fact that I was always in my bedroom when I heard the mysterious knocking. So when it started again, I sprinted again, and found no one there. Again.
Stomp stomp stomp, back to the bedroom. Maybe I need to stake them out, I thought. Maybe I need to just station myself on a chair in the entry hall and just lie in wait. I was seriously annoyed now. "Sons of bitches", I muttered. "I'm a busy woman. Do I have time to run back and forth between the master bedroom and the front door whenever these little delinquents knock? No. I do not. And why the knockknockknockknockknock like a damn woodpecker? We HAVE a DOORBELL, you little gangsters." I continued the sotto voce tirade as I finished unpacking. As usual, I was no longer annoyed after a few minutes of ranting, because I had thoroughly cracked myself up.
Now it's day four. I'm on full alert. I am going to get you this time, suckas.
It was hotter that day than I'd planned for when I got dressed, so I decided to change into shorts. I was walking down the hallway, and the then-four-year old was sitting on the toilet, with the door wide open. He's seven now, and very private when it comes to the bathroom, but when he was four, he did his business way out in the open. He had nothing to hide. I closed the door for him, and continued to the bedroom to change. I was rummaging for a tshirt when the knockknockknockknockknock commenced.
Whoever is doing this is wearing a jet-propulsion backpack.
Back to the bedroom. Just outside the bathroom, I heard knockknockknockknockknock. Only it was coming from inside the bathroom.
Is that what I think it is? I thought. And there it was again, and again, and again. My son always uses at least forty feet of toilet paper, and the knocks were coming at intervals of the same length of time it would take for a four year old to take some toilet paper, wipe, and then take more toilet paper.
The door opened, and out he sprang. After I ordered him back in to wash his hands, I asked him to do me a favor...wait until I call and then just unroll some toilet paper. Always happy to help, my son waited until I was in place. I yelled "OK, sweetie!"
Toilet paper. I had been ready to stake out the front door for toilet paper. I had even brought a folding chair in from the garage. A reading lamp and a table for water and a snack were not far behind. I could have been there for days. Who knows what lengths I'd go to if a roll of paper towels should ever cross me?