This page ©1999 Chip Brown.

I Don't Understand My Wife

Sometimes, I know better than to write an article. I know when I start writing them that I shouldn't. It's times like these that I think nobody understands me. Before this one is a week old, I will be getting weird e-mails from you all. I am sure I will get whacked by my wife, who has made me swear not to mention her in my idiotic ramblings any more. Luckily I had my fingers crossed.

I have never understood toilet paper (terlit paper). Oh I mean I know what it's for and all that, but I just don't understand peoples fascination with it. Pleated, quilted, equipped with lotion what's next?

Then you take my wife. She looks over all the different brands at Walmart, in search of the perfect paper. She reads the labels from each type. What is she looking for? Does she inspect them to see if one brand has a technological difference to the next? Is she reading the instructions?

Let me tell you up front that there is no difference in any brand. They're all like sandpaper if you ask me. But she will always settle for Northern brand quilted toilet paper. So okay, that's fine with me I don't care. When I need toilet paper, my needs are way too immediate to be particular.

Then she takes it home and that's when it happens. The argument begins. Now, maybe some of you could settle this one for us.

She says I need to look to make sure there is enough on the roll before I sit down with the Reader's Digest. I say she needs to store the extra rolls in the bathroom cabinet.

She stores the extra rolls in the closet in another room. Why in the world would she put toilet paper in there? What does she think goes on in that closet? She stores towels in the bathroom and toilet paper in the closet of our bedroom. I mean how would she like it if I start storing my lawnmower gas in the kitchen? While it would fit there and be tons more convenient, it just doesn't belong in the kitchen does it?

I think my wife has a sadistic streak a mile long. I think this is some sort of psychological torture that she inflicts on me. For thirteen years we've been married and for thirteen years she has used this toilet paper torture on me.

Well, as some of you know, I'm crazy as a loon in September. Thirteen years is enough! Today I plot my revenge. See, she has these women coming over tonight for some sort of product party. You men know, the kind of party where there is no football. This is one of those parties where women sit around in the living room and try to convince each other they need some sort of bizarre home decoration out of those little magazines. You know, the ones where the husband is sent to the basement and told not to come up until it's over.

Anyway, she always shows people our house. Anybody that comes gets the tour. Of all our house she is most proud of the walk in closet in our bedroom. A huge closet to women is somewhat like a huge lawnmower to men. We really don't need one that big, but all the other men are envious.

Well today is a dangerous day for my wife. For, today I have money and a need for revenge. Those two things combined are a dangerous pair. In a few minutes I'm heading off to Home Depot to buy.......A NEW TOILET!

I'm bringing that bad boy home and bolting it to the closet floor! Then I'm going to stack that bale of toilet paper she just bought right beside it! Won't my wife and her snooty "husband goes to the basement" friends be surprised when she shows them the closet! Won't my wife be surprised to see my handi-work?

Now most times I just tell you my plans. This time I promise a followup. After I do it, I will report back to you all here on this very page how it went. Watch for red letters below to find out what happened. Wish me luck.

RESULTS
Well it happened. I sat in the basement and listened for the fun to begin. I giggled and ate my Oreos waiting for the discovery to be made.  My wife wasn't the only one to discover something last night though. I discovered that women have no sense of humor at all. After I heard the scream upstairs, I ran up to gloat over my revenge. I don't know if it was the toilet or just that I had ignored my ban and came upstairs, but those women took turns whacking me with purses.

Anyway, my wife told me to get rid of it. I think I'll put it in the back of my truck and drive it around Maynardville. I think I'll take me some posterboard and make me a sign. It will read: Chip's Mobile Terlit.

Yeah, that's what I'll do! And I'll circle the place she works, blowing the horn. Surely she'll see the humor in that!

Wouldn't you hate to be married to me?

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