Ma Must Be Dealing TP On The Black Market

If little Johnny buys 30 rolls of TP on Thursday and on following Tuesday there are nine rolls left, how many times has Ma made a trip to the linen closet to retrieve one roll??? Give up? 21 trips, an average of 3 1/2 times a day. She has got to be selling the stuff. There are a lot of seniors in the area and I wonder if she sets up a stand out front when I leave. If she was actually using that much TP she needs to be in a hospital, she would have to be dehydrated. I really suspect she is hiding it in her luggage or giving it to my sister. When she passes I will probably find a stash in some unexpected place.

My Father took care of his Ma as I do mine. When she passed we had to clean out her apartment and it was quite a comedy act. My Father, Brother and I had the same sense of humor. An irreverent interpretation of seemingly tragic events that leaves more civil onlookers aghast. My Brother and I carry on as Dad has taken his act to the "Big Stage". Grandma was a real "Lace Curtain Irish" maven with a tongue as sharp as a razor. She made no excuses for the things that she said. She was the Queen Mother of the backhanded compliment. She made intolerant people seem nice. So cleaning out her personal belongings was particularly insightful into her personality. She had food of all kinds in large glass jars hidden throughout the house. She had a little bit of folding money in every coat and taped to the bottom of drawers. We really never understood her fear of not having enough to eat until then. We found all kinds of treasures hidden from prying eyes in her small apartment and we joked about every discovery.

I would suspect I will find some of Ma's treasures when I clean up after her lift off to the next dimension. I wonder if I will find a cache of TP. I may end up with a lifetime supply of TP. I can hear my late Father's voice in my mind's eye and know he would be cracking on Ma's obsessive hording of TP with his big blue eyes rolling in his head. He would have to ask just how her poor derriere held up to all the friction from that much wiping. Life is certainly too short to take it too seriously. In the words of my Father, "You better laugh, or you'll be the next one on the bus to the laughing academy".