When Ya Gotta Go

I did not make this quilt. More than two friends have felt the need to post this picture on my Facebook wall. 

I did not make this quilt. But, oh, how I appreciate it!

When all of this Shelter In Place business began, I would read how people were hoarding -- of all things -- toilet paper! I reviewed the list of symptoms: scratchy or sore throat, fever, body aches, cough . . . .  Nothing about diarrhea. Nothing about polyuria. What the heck was going on?

As the days and weeks passed (you should pardon the expression), the neighborhood news publications were full of queries about just which stores were most likely to have toilet paper, which ones were out, which ones were rationing. I was fascinated and I was amused. Meanwhile, in our household, we were eliminating our body waste with more or less the same regularity as before.

On our first run to the local grocery store, I picked up a four-pack. "Don't we have some at home?" inquired Himself. "Well, yes, but . . . ." He indulged me. And we added those four to the four at home. 

After that, we split up the shopping responsibility. He would go do most of the grocery buying at the small, family-owned store we both prefer. I would go to the big chain market where the produce was better. 

And on every list that I made, either for me or for him, I added "toilet paper."  We still had/have plenty, but it seems I have bought into the paranoia. 

Himself isn't big on paranoia. He attempted rationality: "How many rolls do we go through in a week?" I felt threatened. Some rolls have far fewer squares than others. "Oh, perhaps three," I told him. "But . . . ."

Dr. Fauci has yet to mention urinary frequency or diarrhea as a new symptom. I know we have plenty of TP on hand (actually, in the linen closet). But . . . .

So he's indulged me, for both of our sakes. When he goes -- to the store, that is -- if the paper goods aisle is stocked (which it isn't always), he'll bring home a four-pack -- just one -- and we add it to the stash. 

We're all coping in our own ways. Most of the time, I'm handling things really well. I keep busy. I sew. I play Scrabble. I read. I even clean. I'm fine. Really, I am.

This morning I had to go fetch lettuce and green beans and broccoli and stuff. Following the arrows newly superimposed on the floor of the store, I made my way past Aisle Ten but glanced down there anyway. And . . . . it looked like . . . . the shelves weren't empty! I abandoned my cart and -- being sure to keep six feet between me and the other shopper -- I scored a twelve-roll pack! My finest find yet!

They've been added to the other thirteen in the linen closet. I'm breathing more easily. For the moment.

Maybe I need to make this quilt. But I'm afraid that specimen in Column B, Row 4, would give me palpitations. I dunno. 

Oh, and by the way, I get any kind that's available. But my preferred brand, of course, is Northern.

It's quilted.

PS: Before publishing, I read this to Himself. Big on rationality and accuracy, he went to the closet and made a count -- there were only nine previously, not thirteen. I'm not worried. He'll be going to the store tomorrow.