Thursday, 31 March 2011

Bum note

All good stories start with a story.

Mine starts with a boy.

After what could politely be called a shitbloodyawful break up, I met a Boy. Actually to be fair he is definitely more on the man side.

He has a proper job, a real flat and a full face of beautifully trimmed facial hair.

In said flat he has a cupboard full of dried goods, emergency tins of soup - you know sensible things.

And loo roll. Tons of it.

Apparently he picks up a pack every time he goes shopping, just like that.

A quick straw poll of friends and family (well my mum and desk neighbour) confirmed that, far from being unusual, most folks consider this normal.

Fast forward a week and once again I'm sitting on the loo reaching out to grasp sweet FA.

I realise that I might possibly need to stop living like a student.

I call my flatmate on her mobile and ask her to run to the shops. It's not my finest moment.

Afterwards the toilet roll feels like a sign. An epiphany of sorts.

I will become the person with the Andrex reserve, (I'll have to actually buy Andrex of course - have you seen the price?). Never again will I be shamed by the prospect of the ankle trouser shuffle.

Next stop kitchen roll.

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