Reign of TP-error

I’ve been a little silent on the home front lately. These are difficult times in the Wardegus compound. I have no one to blame but myself, this shame rests purely on me. I did it, and my mea culpa is this: I brought the wrong brand of toilet paper.

It was an honest mistake. On one of the rare occurrences where I go grocery shopping without HHP, I picked up a name brand that was on sale but not our preference. I ignorantly assumed that all TP was inherently the same but when I got home that afternoon I saw HHPs face fall. “Oh, it’s fine.” he said, clearly lying. Things between us had been so good for so long. Our communication was stellar. We had intimate conversations about our hopes, dreams and goals. His faith in me was this rock that I had had to hold on to during my own tumultuous times. To know that I had failed him in such a manner, was heartbreaking. For a fleeting moment, I was afraid we had taken too big of a tumble and we would never recover.

It wasn’t until the second week of my TP prison sentence did I really notice a change. Whenever HHP would pass me in the hallway between the bathroom and the living room his eyes darkened. He no longer joked and laughed as easily as he had before. Unlike the Charmin commercial, he no longer “enjoyed the go” and it was all my fault. I was trapped in Dante’s unnamed circle of double-ply hell. There was anger and resentment as well as burgeoning level of distrust. HHP no longer considered me his confidant. He didn’t know that I implicitly had his back at all times. Honestly, how could he? I didn’t have his back. I had let him down and unfortunately all we could was ride this white cotton wave until we hit a softer, more comfortable shore.

I was torn. I wanted to use less TP to serve as a penance for my mistake, but I knew that if I used more we could get through it faster and start to fix our relationship. I wanted to fill the toilet with a wad of toilet paper still attached to the roll and flush it down in one smooth motion but that would be cowardly and frankly, since I’m still unemployed expensive.

I admitted my mistake by week three. I too was suffering but I felt foolish and naive. I wanted to act like inferior toilet paper wasn’t a problem. I could handle the burn, hell give me a pile of newspapers or a pinecone, just as long as it’s not Scotts. As is his truly selfless nature, HHP refuted the dirty looks and the judgement that I thoughtlessly placed on me. He reassured me that we were stronger than toilet paper and that while our relationship is like the Bristol chart. Sometimes, we’re rock solid and unbreakable. Other times, we’re a little looser and free flowing.