Few things make me as distraught as encountering one-ply tissue paper in a dude's bathroom. Not to be too dramatic, but that flimsy toilet paper makes me reconsider all of my life's choices. I work myself into a tizzy as my mind races to answer the question, "What missteps have I made that have led me to this inferior ply?"
What if I had run for school president in high school? Do high school presidents wipe with one-ply? I don't think so! I should've worked harder in that statistics class junior year of college. It would've raised my GPA and--who knows?--maybe I would've snagged a better job. What if I'd gone for my MBA? Do MBA grads use one-ply? Hell no!
If I had gone for my MBA degree, I'd probably be dating a real man who has hobbies like rock climbing or windsurfing. He's cultured; he probably enjoys sipping loose teas from exotic locales. And, I'll bet you ten bucks that he has a super-sized roll of Cottonelle (with aloe!) in his bathroom. Or, maybe he as some NASA-developed toilet paper unavailable to the mass market that's made with 10% cashmere and 5% kitten hair. Maybe he even has a heated toilet seat! Who knows what kind of toilet treats I'm missing out on?
Instead, I get to date guys that live in South Philly flophouses, drink budget beers, and can only afford one-ply toilet paper. I'm pretty sure prisoners get higher quality toilet paper than this. As a child, I pictured my adult self as an adult surrounded by plush TP. Where did it all go wrong? I've not only let myself down, but I've let my inner child down too.
By the time I get out of the bathroom, I have a dead look in my eye and I'm quoting Nietzsche. And that just makes me sad.