Feel the Jungle

 About 11 years ago I was long distance dating a guy from college. We were doing laundry one weekend and he snickered when separating our clothing. He had spotted some of my underwear and said "I see your skidmarks." I looked at my underwear then glared back at my moronic boyfriend. "That's not a skidmark, it's period underwear. Literally every woman has some pair of wrecked underwear and if we replaced it every time we got a stain we would go broke."

I may have had stomach parasites in college that had caused me to poop my pants and I have had other illnesses since that have done the same, but I never had skidmarks thank you very much. I may get sick on occation, but I can wipe. 

Well flashforward to today and I have just returned from my morning bathroom trip waddling slightly more than from my pregnancy. You see when we moved into our house I was so excited about getting to make more environmentally sound choices. I bought eco cleaners in reusable bottles where you just add water to a soap pack, I bought laundry detergent that is 100% plastic free and shipped in a box, and natural cotton washcloths. Many things I hemmed and hawed over buying trying to find the right products for our lifestyle. 

So far everything has been pretty great, except for the bamboo toilet paper. I ordered a reasonable amount of toilet paper to start. 24 recycled paper rolls right before the pandemic. Those lasted many months all the way until moving. Then I decided to go one step further. Instead of recycled paper that was shipped in several small boxes I went for the motherload. 56 rolls of bamboo toilet paper in one massive box. A jumbo box arrived a few days later. I opened up the roll and saw the cheeky packings (Who Gives a Crap) and a circular stamped pattern on the paper. What followed was a rough ride. I suppose I should have considered that bamboo is after all a hard grass material and it may not make the smoothest wipe. What I didn't expect was to be transported to a jungle fresh off a boat leak in 1912 touring the Nile. I am of course an heiress trying to prove to my family that I can do more than sit in a stuffy drawing room ordering around kitchen staff. I was educated and fascinated by monkies so I took my nest egg and traveled to Africa. As we boated down the Nile our boat hit a lodged tree in the middle of the river which punctured the hull of the boat. We made it ashore before it sank, but it would be several months before we were back to civilization. Luckily our cargo all floated and we had plenty of provisions, that is of course besidess the water closet paper. It had sadly become waterlogged and useless. My guide, Miles (he was the translator and a professor), fancied himself a bit of a survivalist. And once we had gotten over the pretenses of my wealth and stature out in the jungle and it was clear I needed to relieve myself, he taught me how to gather bamboo fibers and fashion them into a scraping device. 

Boom I'm back in the present day on my toilet grimacing as I wipe with the bamboo paper. I examine the paper and can still see the fibers of the bamboo scattered in the circular stamped design. The stamped design only makes the experience worse. The toilet paper is roughly ribbed for no one's pleasure and I can't help but assume it was meant to scrape your rear more effectively. Poop grooves if you will. I immediately regret my bulk purchase of enough toilet paper to last until my unborn child is potty trained. I can see him refusing to use a toilet simply because the diaper doesn't hurt.  The only good news is I am pregnant and peeing enough to actually use far more paper than usual. My sister was appalled when visiting the house at how rough the paper is. She is not eco-friendly and has the comforter thick Charmin at her house. The rolls that last maybe 5 days or one sick day. They may go quickly, but you don't leave the bathroom with a baboos arse at least. 

While I didn't enjoy this new paper, I was going to power through. Afterall in a previous life I was an heiress lost on the Nile, I could handle this until I looked in my underwear one day. A brand new pair with a little stain. I haven't gotten my period in months, I'm pregnant afterall, but apparently when faced with the choice of a clean wipe versus a transportation into a damp jungle and a reddened ass, I pick a skidmark.