Mid-Life Crisis of a One-Ply Convert

A little while ago, I accidentally bought two whole crates of one-ply toilet paper at Costco. That’s 96 double rolls. Enough tp to stretch from here to Vancouver. It was a bargain.

The odd thing is not that I screwed up and bought one-ply. Though I do seem to be having more than my share of senior’s moments lately. (I blame it on the kids, the fact that I’m realizing the empty nest is looming in my near future now, and the fact that I’m looking so forward to it – with all it’s cooking for two, socks in their proper places, and jam where I left it.)

No, the odd thing was that I didn’t hi-tail it right back to Costco, receipt madly in hand, to return the crappy bum wipe, immediately and forcefully, with a stern lecture on better signage and offence.

What??? This is not me. ‘Me’ has spent the better part of the first half of my life arguing against the many and varied inefficiencies of one-ply. It’s harder to find the end when the last person didn’t leave it exposed enough. (See too many children above.)  And what about those times when one-ply just doesn’t do the job of protecting one’s sensitive digits from poking through, making the act of wiping a fairly traumatizing experience? Ew, I cannot go there. Except to assure my germ-phobe self thereby washing not only my hands, but the taps, flush handle, and toilet lid afterward..

Personal hygiene aside, I wonder at the change in me. Having reached what I hope to be the mid point of my life – that is to say that I hope it is somewhere around now, though there are days when I think it might have come and gone twenty five years ago, I seem to be becoming more, not less, tolerant of many things in life.

This is unexpected. When I think of Baba, who passed twenty-two years ago at eighty eight, she never let up on the opinion that all religion was hocus-pocus, that the only way to catch a husband was to be able to cook, and that no self respecting girl should give away anything before she was good and legally married, I was under the impression that old people were pretty curmudgeonly. My dad passed two years ago at seventy one. He never gave in to the idea that having a family was something he should learn to value outside of his own conscious thought.

Do old people not get crotchety with age?

What kind of old lady will I be if my tolerance levels are constantly expanding to the point that – and here I risk having the FBI at my door in the next five – I can now, though I DO NOT  agree with their tactics and actions, kind of just a little bit understand the muslim extremists views against capitalism and the thinking it will be the downfall of mankind. Sure they’re out to lunch on the 72 virgins thing. But over the last twenty years or so, I’ve been waiting for the economic collapse we now see – expecting it and wondering what took so long. And as a non-economist mother of five who is mastering the household budget, how come I can see what our educated experienced politicians can not. Or are they blinded by their own greed of money and power. Yeah. That’s probably it.

But my tolerance is creeping up everywhere! Yesterday, the cop on the news says the families of the little effers who bullied that grandmother/monitor on the bus the other day are being bullied themselves. The husband spouts a fountain of  good, consequences, whole family’s gone to pot, etc. I thought I would have agreed with him. But, no, I had to argue. Surely the siblings are not responsible for their brother’s actions. I know my kids weren’t. And if three of the four kids have publicly apologized, with their parents chiming in, are those not the kids we should be looking at saving? The ones where the parents are trying, damn it? Even if sometimes the kids still go bad?

Really, anyway, where’s that frickin’ fourth kid?

Everything from our treatment of the disabled, to society’s support or lack thereof in the legal system, children’s support systems, educations systems. While I have opinions in all of these areas – okay fine, I have an opinion for every occasion –  it strikes me that I am softening in my views towards those who are having a tough time – for whatever reason.  My tried and true mantra has always been, “It might not be my fault but it was still my responsibility.” The newest in my arsenal is now, “Everyone does the best they can with what they have at the moment.”

What????? When did this happen?

And why can’t anyone else see my softening. The husband and the mom both still think I’m a hard-nosed rock of perspective, unable and unwilling to bend on anything.

But I beg to differ. Sure I still have no patience for assholes and idiots. Who does? And I still drive with my windows closed, even after the a/c has failed, simply to avoid the fisticuffs that will surely ensue should the wrong person hear what I’m actually screaming at them instead of thinking I’m just singing along to the music. But I have softened. And It worries me a little to think that if I’m only half way there, what kind of pudding cup will I be when I’m old and done?

Yes, I have changed. Am changing. And if you still have a problem believing that and empathizing with my perceived dilemma , come on over, take a dump in my bathroom, and ask yourself why I’m now so committed to one-ply.  Why I’m planning to purchase the one-ply next time I’m at Costco.  If that’s not a little whack, I don’t know what is…

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