Google Something Clever 2.0: My Ass Doesn’t Compromise

May 14, 2014

My Ass Doesn’t Compromise

I’m generally a frugal person. If you were to go through my refrigerator, you’d see the grocery store logo on at least half of the products in there. There are some things that you just don’t need to spend that much on. Other times, You Get What You Pay For™. I’ll never compromise on my Diet Mountain Dew (suck it, Surge!), my Purdue chicken, or my Chuck Taylor All Stars.

Sometimes, my cheapo opinions evolve. For example, I’ve finally realized that buying a shitty knife block every three or four years is probably more expensive than those fancy German knives in the long run, and cooking is actually much less of a chore when the knife isn’t slipping off of the onion and nicking my fingernails every time I cook.

I’ll never spend more than $25 for a shirt, though, because it will inevitably get a big grease stain on the belly before it ever goes out of fashion (yes, I’ve been eating on the couch, mother). I only buy purses at Target, because I get sick of the style and want a new one every three months. Get the hell out of here with your designer bags.

But there is one area where I have absolutely never strayed from top-quality, and that is my toilet paper. If you can’t even treat your own bum right, man, that ain’t livin’. I grew up on the very best toilet paper, the one with the cloud on it. They were eventually bought out by the one with the bear, which I have been purchasing since my early twenties.

Then, something awful happened. They changed their product. The roll was narrower. I get that. That’s a cost-cutting measure. Fine. But the paper itself changed. I can’t even articulate the difference, but I can tell you that it’s not the same, and the Rear Admiral is displeased. Especially since I’d just gotten a 1628-pack at the warehouse store. Into the trash can it went, and my quest began.

I tried the puppy one that everyone likes so much. Sandpaper, I tell you. Utter garbage. The one with the, um, blanket? Doesn’t absorb jack. I mean, I need to wash my hands twice after using it. The one with the baby? I’m pretty sure it’s reclaimed Chinese newspaper.

On to the store brands. I tried one, and it was close. Damn close. Not quite there, but it gave me hope. Tried another store. Son of a bitch, it’s the exact same paper in a different package! Right down to the quilted pattern. Turns out, all the store brands are the same.

So now what am I to do? I’ve tried every paper out there, and I hate them all. My poor, suffering backside can’t take much more of this trial-and-error. Do I need to install a bidet? Start using family cloths? Or do I just need to accept the fact that my caboose can no longer live in the manner to which it’s accustomed? Somebody stop me before I drop $5k on a Japanese robot toilet that sings to me while it washes my can.

This post originally appeared on In the Powder Room

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