Of the Flesh of Trees

Living with two females can sometimes not be the easiest thing to be with, and do excuse the male shallowness of it all when I say they're harder to deal with when the both of them are not sights for sore eyes. If they were, at least their idiosyncracies would be a little bit more palatable.

Ah well, when I came home yesterday with a packet of toilet paper, about eighteen rolls for six dollars, the Home Brand type. The cheap kind, but still worthy enough to clean your arse of rectum paste. I appeared at the door of the managing tenant (Skinny Panda), after I had noticed the lack of toilet serviettes, and told her, "Hey look, I bought the toilet paper!"

She promptly said, "No."
"What?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
"I don't use this toilet paper."
"What's wrong with this one?"
"I don't want to use this, you can use it."

And with that I said: "So what, your ass is too precious, is it?" Word for word, and since my sarcasm hit her brick wall, the reply came back as a yes. So, here I was with eighteen rolls of toilet paper. Not that I wasn't going to use it (considering that I don't buy tissue paper boxes), but that I wonder why anyone would turn down toilet paper.

Or am I supposed to be more sensitive and think about those buttcheeks that might end up getting scratched? As if there wasn't enough child-friendly stuff anyway.


Currently listening to: Kutless - All Alone