Last night, as I made myself change the toilet paper roll for what it seemed the one hundredth time in the last few weeks, I wondered why I find this specific chore to be such a drag, right up there with filling up the gas tank, turning the sprinklers on and off, and of course, cooking.
I don’t get it. It takes all about two seconds to get the empty roll out and put the new one in, and yet, without fail, each time I have to fight the urge to leave it for later. It must be a remnant of my married life, when there was always a chance (cross my fingers) that Mike would take care of it if I didn’t. I’d get lucky most of the time, but invariably I’d end up having to change it myself anyway because he’d put it in wrong. Other people disagree, but I like it when the loose bit of tissue falls over the top of the roll. (What?)
Now, I’m the only queen to my throne. I can change the roll now or I can change it later, but I have to change it. Such a drag… It’s the only other thing I dislike about being alone.
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