In honor of my imminent move, I'd like to invite you all on a tour — with several stops over the next couple of weeks leading up to my departure — of the storied halls of the Seven Hills Orphanage. 

First stop: the bathroom!  

Most mornings this is what greets me...


Vexingly, there's usually a full roll sitting somewhere very nearby. 

I generally spend my morning bathroom session puzzling over this.  It can only mean one of two things: either someone is being very environmentally conscious and making sure that that one square of toilet paper left on the roll doesn't go to waste, or someone is so shockingly lazy they refuse to use the last square if it means they'll have to change the roll, which admittedly is stressingly labor intensive, especially first thing in the morning (I should know).

Actually, I have produced and distributed educational videos through the house listserv that show that a toilet roll can be changed without breaking a sweat in three seconds flat.  We have had workshops on lifting and lowering the toilet seat, flushing the toilet, and changing the toilet paper roll, but short of installing cameras, there's no way of knowing who's just not getting it.  

And that's the thing about living with a primitive horde.  You'll never know.  The best you'll ever have, in most cases, is an educated guess.  And the more you let it get to you the more whoever is doing it will do it.  It's the old cat-and-mouse. 

The thing about living with just one or two people is, it keeps you somewhat honest when it comes to this kind of thing.  Whether you make the extra effort out of respect for your roomies or because you know you can't get away with leaving a mess, you end up making the extra effort — and that may be all that separates us from the animals: the extra effort. 

Living alone keeps you a little too honest for your own good, I've found.  You start to see what you really are — a filthy animal — and there's no one around to stop you from becoming it.  Let's face it: wallowing in the mud is fun.  Going for days on end without bathing is fun.  Tearing smaller beasts limb from limb with our bare teeth and leaving their bones strewn about is fun.  Flossing afterwards? That's for pussies! Let the wild rumpus start!

It's good to have someone around to keep you in check.  But there's definitely an upper limit, too.  And once you get enough folks in there that anonymity is assured it's back to the old drawing board.  Especially these days when an argument can be made that even cleaning house is bad for the environment. 

It's like Lord of the Flies.  The way it's going, pretty soon they'll forsake toilet paper at the Orphanage altogether. I mean, it's so wasteful to use — it might be good for your butt but it's, like, totally bad for the environment — and so labor intensive to change the roll — especially when rags, wood shavings, leaves, grass, hay, stone, sand, moss, water, snow, maize, ferns, may apple plant husks, fruit skins, corn cobs and seashells have all had proven results (at least according to wikipedia)!

Maybe we should consider going back to the original Gayety’s Medicated Paper sold in the 1850s in 500- sheets packs. That would make you think — one square at a time.  You know, the continuous roll wasn't even patented until 1870.  Yet another example of a technology meant to address an old problem that ends up creating a host of new ones. 

I'm going to stick to rolls.  I think we'll manage nicely at the new place with rolls.  But however my old housemates end up wiping (may I recommend seashells?), I hope it works out for them.