The most stressful part of our marriage. That moment when the toilet paper runs out in upstairs bathroom and there are no more backup rolls.

It all starts out nice enough.

Dave (standing in the loft and sweetly calling down to me): He hon, we are running low on toilet paper up here. Do you mind going to the chemical closet and grabbing a few rolls and throwing them up to me?

Me: Sure! (but on the inside my heart starts beating and I begin to sweat profusely).

…why you ask? Because I cannot seem to “just toss” the toilet paper up into the loft.

Dave: Ok…you can do it this time.

Me: Lemme just walk it up…

Dave: No! This is much easier. Just throw it up over the rafter.

He leans over the half wall and, giving me his most encouraging smile, outstretches his hands to provide me with an adequate target. I aim. I must throw it in the perfect arch to go over the rafter but not with too much force that it hits the ceiling fan just behind him or the angled wall. My aim must be perfect because I need to hit it perfectly centered into the triangular space that a pillar and angled wall create. If I aim to low, I hit the TV antenna that sits atop the book shelf and that’s a disaster as well. Or sometimes I clear the antenna but not the half wall and I hit the large and heavy picture on the wall….it sways precariously, dangerously close to seeing it’s demise. Sometimes I wake up at night in a cold sweat…I am certain that this will be the way I die…by way of picture smashing.

I take a deep breath and focus. I aim. I throw. The first roll hits the pillar and lands on top of the book shelf.

Dave sighs. He rolls his eyes and stretches his hands out further and away from the pillar. His silence and stone cold stare pierce my soul. I must do this. I must show him I’m capable and have self worth. I make another attempt. It hits the TV antenna which tumbles off the bookshelf and onto the floor, its “bunny ears” barely missing my eyes. I stumble towards the stairs…

Dave: No! Just toss it up!

I take aim and throw with all my might. The roll clears the beam this time and continues onward to…oh no! Not the ceiling fan! It hits the fan, which is running on the high setting…the roll ricochets off the walls and, as the tail of paper grows with every bounce, Dave starts cursing and frantically attempts to grab the roll before it (yet again) turns into a tp disaster any teenage prankster would be proud of. Too late. With the entire roll unrolled, the cardboard comes to rest on the bed, and the cat pounces on it with a loud growl. This is where it really gets crazy. Mozart, lying on the bed in a deep slumber, jumps up in a barking frenzy and chases the cat, half running, half falling down the stairs. Which rouses Martin and ZoeGirl who are sleeping on the couch. Martin lunges at Mozart and a vicious fight ensues. ZoeGirl continues to chase the cat who turns on her and attacks her. Blood and fur is flying everywhere.

I’m crying. Dave is screaming.

Dave is attempting to break up Mozart and Martin. I’m trying to save the cat.

It all ends with Dave, (yet again) pulling out his first aid suture kit and stitching up his hand and Martin’s leg (yet again) while I take tweezers and pull the cat claw remnants out of ZoeGirl’s muzzle.

Current TP Incident Score Tally:

ZoeGirl=0/Cat=10

Martin&Dave=0/Mozart=5

Stephanie=0/Toilet Paper=15

Dave as he’s finishing wrapping up Martins leg in purple compression wrapping lets out a sigh: Ok, let’s try another roll.