Christmas Shopping

'Tis the season I dread it every year.  Not because I'm a scrooge but because inevitably all the shopping hours and efforts focus on me.  That's right, I gift myself so many more times over than everyone else on my shopping list and at the end of the day that's OK.  Who doesn't like new and pretty things, especially when it's exactly what they want?  You so know I'm right.

I think sometime after a few years of adulthood most of us realize that every year is about the same.  Your friend can only use so many scarves, mom doesn't really want another set of flannel PJs because she hasn't even opened up the other four sets you had surprised her with in the previous years.  And honestly, when people ask what you want for Christmas you're not thinking a sweater or that new set of candlesticks.  What you're thinking as the words "sweater", "I don't need anything", or "the pool boy" fall from your lying lips (Santa knows!) are more to the tune of "pay off my house/car/yacht/illegal mail-order "house boy"", "a huge-mongous pile of money to swim in a la Scrooge McDuck" or something completely insane.  But it's what you really want, right?  In the end, who am I to turn down presents no matter how much at the bottom of my wish list they may be?

The problem is when I make my way to the stores to buy for other people.  Because it's so difficult to remain creative for others, my attention always manage to fall upon the familiar which of course is the stuff I like and want.  Before you know it, I'm leaving the mall at the end of a long shopping day with a ton of bags all filled with goodies for yours truly.  Incredibly fulfilling.  Until the credit card bill comes.  Even more frustrating just because I know that list I was supposed to be working on is still fresh and crisp, having never even been looked at.

One year Emma and I spent the day at the mall "buying stuff for other people".  We couldn't decide what to get each other while satisfying the criteria being A)affordable, B)the other person would like it and C)keeping it a surprise.  Of course C is just asinine since in order to get someone something they like you have to ask what it is that they want and come Christmas Day when they open up their present from you and it's exactly what they had asked for it really isn't a surprise.  Anyway, we just decided that if we should see something we liked or wanted we'd just buy it for ourselves and say it was from the other person.  All of a sudden, shopping for each other was so much easier.  Too bad you can't really do that with everyone else.

So yah, I unexpectedly had access to a car a few days ago and grandma was home for the day.  The Fusspot was left with her and I sang all the way to the mall.  After several hours of looking in all the wrong stores I came home with a few things for myself (there was a lot of self-control exercised) and nothing for anybody else.  What a waste of a shopping trip considering I rarely get such freedom nowadays.  I am so disappointed in myself.

Well, not really since I got presents but I should wallow in some guilt for a little while for the good of mankind.  I hear it builds character or something anyway... 

Magic Carpet Toilet Paper

I don't have anything colourful right now to offer my loyal legions of paid fans, so you'll have to make do with something that's been sitting in my draft folder for some time now.  Be in awe, be entertained.   

You wouldn't think that the topic of toilet paper would be so important but since I'm the primary shopper in the household and use so damned much of it these last several months it's got me thinking. And reminiscing. What a loser. You are. Shut up.

My public school dispensed toilet paper by the square. They looked like mini paper towels in that they were tri-folded and when one sheet was taken, the next would pop out ready to service. I hated that toilet paper. Not only were the squares tiny and useless, you really had to pull out a gigantic wad, even as a kid to effectively wipe anything, but curiously, one side of the sheet had a wax paper-like finish to it and the other side had the abrasiveness to skin a pig with a couple of passes. Now who invented that nonsense? What does a waxy finish do besides smear things around?! That's the last thing I want happening when I'm finished doing my business. The worst part had to be the odd times you pulled one square out and the entire stack followed unexpectedly so now you had a pile of useless "paper" on the ground and one sheet with which to wipe. And if you know public school washrooms you would know that they lived in perpetual shortage of soap. Mmmmm.

Mr. Stinky and I share a need for quality toilet paper. A comfortable product that doesn't exfoliate you down to the raw, inner flesh of the nether regions with every wipe. I promised him when we moved in together that he would never have to worry about crappy toilet paper as the household would always be well stocked with sale-priced, but good stuff. If you must know, anything $0.25 and less per roll is a fair deal. I never get the "ultra" stuff because the more ply per square, the less squares per roll and the higher chances of a clog occurring when that fluffy stuff soaks up the toilet water. It's all about the math people... and having too much time to ponder the trivial stuff.

I don't know who the supplier is for my employer but we get some magical stuff. It's not great toilet paper, but it's exponentially better than what Mr. Stinky has at his work. I had to pee once while visiting him and the paper in the stalls weren't even 1-ply, more like 3/4-ply. It was see-through and practically disintegrated in your fingers if you tried to unravel it too fast. Sad. Anyway, magic toilet paper. It straddles the abyss between semi-soft and barely tolerable but for the most part, is OK. What amazes me is that this stuff floats. Like the Cheerios mothers use to toilet train toddler boys this stuff doesn't sink or flush.

This morning after the first of many pees for the rest of the day I had to flush quickly three times in a row hoping that each one would employ the inertia of the previous flush to suck the stuff down the pipes. Honestly, I didn't use that much paper, it's just magical like I said, and I'd hate to leave proof of my presence for the next washroom user. It's a common courtesy; no one should have to look at stuff someone else left behind no matter how innocuous. Of course hearing all that flushing would lead anyone around with ears to think that I took a massive and unflushable poo and was now doing battle with the toilet to get rid of it. Not that it really matters, there are only so many options of action one could take in a washroom and I'm certainly not embarrassed to answer the call of nature. But shoot, three flushes. That's a lot of... stuff.