Something To Talk About

When I was a teenager, my mother had always given me a hard time about putting on makeup only to go grocery shopping.

"Who are you expecting to meet in the frozen foods section, Brad Pitt?" She'd mock, but I would just remind her where she met my father.

"That was completely different," She'd giggle.

But this night turned out to be different, too.

I had just worked my 5th 10 hour shift in a row at my preschool/daycare, and as much as I loved children, that week had been full of the kinds of days that one person should never have to deal with. After a dozen milk spills, a handful of fights and a few too many 'accidents'

I had finally made it through Friday with nothing to look forward to but 2 quiet days off.

The plan was to go home, shower, put on my pajamas and climb into bed where I would hopefully spend the following 18 hours with no interruptions, but after blow drying my hair, and putting on my Pjs, as I was halfway into bed, I realized I had forgotten to pick up something very, very important on the way home.

"Toilet paper," I sighed and slowly, grudgingly climbed back out of my bed. That was one thing I could not make do without for a day.

It was past midnight by the time I finally got to the grocery store. It was only a few blocks away, so I couldn't justify driving, but there was also no way I was putting on real clothes again. At that point makeup would have been nothing short of laughable.

"Toilet paper, toilet paper..." I mumbled to myself, "Le papier du toilette...how many toilet paper options do people really need?"

Slowing to a stop in front of the toilet paper, I placed my hands on my hips and stood staring up at half the aisle, filled with choices.

"Personally, I'm a firm believer that there are as many kinds of toilet paper in the world as there are people," A soft voice came from behind me.

I turned to see a rather thin guy around the same age as I was. He was sort of nerdy looking, but in an oddly cute and strikingly familiar way. He was smirking at his own comment, like he thought himself to be quite brilliant, but immediately began to blush when
I smiled, too.

"Oh, yeah?" I bit my lip, inviting him to carry on, and he did, but only after a shy pause.

"Well, yeah..." He shrugged, "The kind of toilet paper you choose says something about the kind of person you are, you know?"

I raised my eyebrows, and he chuckled as he explained.

"Like, for example..." He reached for a bundle, "Quilted 3-ply. A person who uses quilted 3-ply toilet paper is...a narcissist."

"And how did you come up with that conclusion, exactly?" I wondered.

"Well, they'd be overly sensitive, Right? Sure its nice to have a little pillowy softness in your toilet paper, but this is a little excessive. It also cant be good for the environment. Which means they care more about their own comfort than the world, or maybe even the other people in it."

"They'd sacrifice a chunk of the Amazon or the ozone for a more enjoyable bathroom experience," I nodded and tucked the same recycled toilet paper I'd always bought under my arm.

"Hippie," He mumbled and tucked the quilted 3-ply under his own.

"I prefer environmental activist, thank you very much," I corrected, with a wry smile and adding with joking accusation at the 'narcissistic' bundle he was holding, "But somebody has to make up for the polluters of this world."

I started towards the checkouts, but he followed.

"Its not for me," He assured me, jogging to catch up, "I'm more of a Kotex double roll kind of guy, myself..."

"Which means...?"

"I strike a balance between enjoying a little creature comfort and being a hip-being an environmental activist..." He caught himself, and I sat my toilet paper on one of the empty checkouts. He did the same and turned to me, "So, whats your name?"

I glanced at him for a second, wondering why he even wanted to know, but answered anyways, "Danya, what's yours?"

"Ryan," He stuck out a bony hand which I shook, and couldn't help but notice it was a little clammy, "What are you doing right now, Danya? Do you have any plans?"

"Right now?" I looked down at my pajamas and flip flops then back at him, "Does it look like I have big plans?"

He gave me a funny, sort of amused look as I paid, and I noticed that the girl at the check out (who was all of 16) was taking particular interest in him and our conversation.

"I'm kind of hungry, I thought maybe we could go grab some breakfast...continue hypothesizing on the link between personality traits and qualities of toilet paper," He shrugged a shoulder, "But you know, you're probably about to hit a club or something...purple plaid pajama pants are always a dead giveaway."

I stifled a laugh and cast a confused glance at him as I took my receipt and before answering him as to whether or not I had plans, had a question for him...

"Whose the 3-ply for?"

"Uh..." He was blushing again, and sighed, hesitating, "My, uh...girlfriend..."

I let out a snort of laughter, rolled my eyes, turned and walked out of the grocery store, shaking my head.

Guys...