Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

prison toilet paper

Now that I've got your attention, I should probably come clean with the fact that I've never actually been to prison. Like at all. Not even to visit. I mean, I've seen prison movies. Like The Rock. Or The Shawkshank Redemption. The closest I've gotten to an actual jail cell was on a school field trip. Even that was just a two-cell county jail, and no one was "home" at the time. But I feel as if I know all about prison toilet paper. Or gas station toilet paper. Space shuttle toilet paper. Biodegradable camping toilet paper. Take your pick, but trust me when I say you won't like it. Seriously, there's a reason why even desperate people don't steal the toilet paper from a truck stop restroom. 

Imagine if you will, fine grit sandpaper sliced whisper thin, rolled up in off-white sheets, packaged in plain wrapping, and marketed to men. I guess I'm on the universe's proverbial shit list because my hubby bought a damn case of it while I was out of town. He clearly didn't read the fine print (neither did I, but I'm guessing it says things like: Shreds on contact. No matter how much you use, your fingers WILL go through the entire wad. Every. Single. Time. Doubles as tracing paper. Even the dog will turn her muzzle up at this stuff. Leaves red marks on sensitive skin. Especially noses.) Did I mention I have a case of it? And a cold. So now I have a shiny red nose worthy of a reindeer. I'm trying to come up with other uses for it. Like. Like. Yeah, I got nothing.

But it's the weekend, and I'm resourceful, so don't count me out yet. I may just score a jumbo package of the good stuff and stash it where hubby can't find it. You know, the same place I stash the tampons and stuff. He never looks in there. 

Until the next time, 

I'll be planning covert TP ops.

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