The Great Debate: Toilet Paper, Over or Under?

Help a brother out and ALWAYS roll from the front.

There is nothing in this world that seems to cause more marital friction than bathroom etiquette. Actually there may be quite a few, but today that’s what I am going to talk about, bathroom etiquette. Men have been much maligned in the area of restroom etiquette, but today I intend to once and for all settle a long standing debate in my family. I will prove once and for all that at least in this one instance I am superior to both my mother and my wife when it comes to one of the bathroom’s greatest areas of conflict: the humble toilet paper roll.

Now I’ve known my mother for quite a long time, in fact for my whole life. I will readily admit that in nearly every area of cleanliness and hygiene her methods and habits are far superior to my own. Growing up as a child our house was like a model home. Everything was always in its place and always spotlessly clean. To this day her house is beautifully decorated and still a model of perfection, but sadly I have been corrupted by my wife and can no longer live up to my mother’s standards. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to try, but fifteen years of marriage has corrupted me.

When I first got married I tried to maintain the level of cleanliness that I had grown up with, but sadly I must admit that when it comes to household standards my wife is the polar opposite of my mother. In our first apartment after being married I managed to keep my wife’s area of influence to a minimum. I purchased her a desk and tried to give her her own space where should could work and pile her unorganized heap while I worked to keep the rest of the house orderly. That worked for a while, but over time my wife’s sphere of influence began to overtake my own until I found myself in a 2000 square foot house that consists of 1850 square feet of stacks of my wife’s stuff that are off limits to me and my cleaning regime. I often tell my wife that one of these days she is going to come home and find that her “stuff has been touched” and much of it carted off to the Goodwill. She knows better though.

She likes to lord her authority over me like some sort of evil master who demands that I have meals prepared and on the table, but that when it comes to her stuff…

Man…do NOT touch her stuff!

It is a lesson that I have learned the hard way. The first instance of “stuff touching” that got me in trouble was probably after (much after) our first Christmas together. Weeks and months went by after that first Christmas, and the pile of Christmas related stuff around her desk remained. I gently urged her to do something with the empty boxes of stuff, but to no avail. Finally come mid-February I could not take it any longer. She was working late one night, I was bored sitting home alone, and the rest is as they say, history.

I gathered up all of the empty boxes, and put what few gifts still remained in them aside. I then took the boxes and left over wrapping paper to the apartment complex dumpster. Order was once again restored in the house and I felt good. I could now sit and relax to enjoy myself while I waited for the wife to get home from work. She would come home and see how clean the house was, she would be happy.

Well, that was the plan at least. In the end it did not quite work out that way. My wife came home from work and found all the boxes missing, but this was not a good thing. It turns out that she had put a gift certificate in one of those boxes (underneath the tissue paper no less) and though the box appeared empty and trash worthy to my untrained eye it was indeed not empty. Needless to say I spent 30 minutes that night digging through the apartment dumpster until I found that gift certificate. After many more similar instances with my wife about “touching her stuff” over the years I have finally learned my lesson and I do not touch her stuff.

But this is not a story about touching my wife’s stuff, so let’s get back to the main story…

Mom, I love you. And Monica (my wife’s heretofore undisclosed name) I love you too. And while you are both far superior to me (each in your own way) in most instances, I contend that in this one shining moment of glory for myself (and for all men) I reign supreme over you both. I, Jeff Crupper, know how to put a roll of toilet paper on the holder correctly while the both of you are sadly lacking.

SADLY LACKING!

LACKING, SADLY!

The great over vs. under debate has raged in society and between me and my mother for years. When she comes to visit me I always find the guest bathroom has had the roll turned around to roll from behind. WTF is going on here? How could my mother, the perfect housekeeping mother that she is, be so freaking stupid about this thing, yet know so much about everything else? My mind is going to explode! Everyone knows that toilet paper should roll from the front.

Scientific studies have proven the validity of my argument, yet I find myself unable to get through to this woman. What gives? Mother, I beg you to see the light and let that roll drape down from the front. It makes getting my ass clean so much easier to accomplish, and as my mother you know how important a quality BM experience is to a Crupper man.

Now to the wife: Monica…Monica. After fifteen years (sixteen this coming November 6th – and you thought I didn’t know when our anniversary was) I have learned to live with many things (as have you I am sure), but in this one instance I am asking you (begging you) to compromise and cave to my will. I will admit that at least you don’t force me to roll from the back like my mother, and that your way is better (marginally) than hers. However I must ask, in fact I demand, that if you want to save our marriage you PLEASE put the roll ON the freaking roller. Is it really that much trouble to put the new toilet paper roll on the roller rather than just sit it on top of the bathroom counter? Is it, really?

Now my dear reader that I have shared my dirty laundry with you, perhaps you can share this tragic tale with your friends with whom you have had a similar debate. Let my tragedy be your triumph. Let my suffering be your salvation, and mostly to all of you who would argue the “roll from behind method” Let this be a lesson to you…

[UPDATE:] The toilet paper debate did finally boil to a head in 2010 when Monica and I were divorced. Ladies (and geltelmen) please see the light now before it is too late for you as well.