According to a Consumer Reports survey detailed in today’s paper, “81 percent of married women say that they alone (emphasis mine) decide what toilet paper and other personal care items to buy for the household.”
I find it hard to believe that more than eight out of ten husbands are uninvolved in the choice of toilet paper they use. There were also additional statistics that I found surprising but that reinforced traditional gender and role stereotypes, including that “77 percent (of married women) say they alone decide what groceries and canned goods to buy.”
Are most husbands really that uninvolved in basic household decisions? The above statistic implies that just over two out of ten husbands, maximum, are even minimally involved in grocery shopping. I realize that my married relationship may not be typical in the degree to which we share such tasks. I tend to be hyper-involved in decisions, including the choice of toilet paper, because I am somewhat anal (pun intended) and because we each stay home with the kids an equal amount of the time and share household chores and shopping responsibilities. Far from typical, I know.
But less than two out of ten men are involved in the choice of toilet paper? Could that be true?
Before getting married, I lived with a friend who preferred the cushiest toilet paper I’ve ever used. It was so thick, the smallest amounts could clog the toilet. It was practically cloth. And not the thin, scratchy kind. It felt like super-soft, Egyption cotton. I mean, it was nice, but it was still being used to wipe up excrement before being flushed into the sewerage system. Seemed like a waste to me. But my friend swore by it. He considered it a necessity.
If and when he gets married, will he abdicate any role in the choice of toilet paper? I find that hard to believe, but it is possible. Or maybe he and I would be the two out of the ten. Who knows?
Or maybe the survey isn’t capturing the whole story. By not commenting on the choice of toilet paper — by not stating that a different type of toilet paper should be purchased – the husbands are involved in the decision. The person buying the toilet paper (in most cases, the wife) may be making the initial decision on her own, but by using the toilet paper without complaint, the other spouse is tacitly agreeing that the toilet paper is satisfactory, making it a shared decision. That’s the way I’d like to look at it: as a shared decision and evidence of wedded bliss.
All this talk of toilet paper reminds me of a book idea I had shortly after college. One element of it focused on a poetry concept I called “toilet haiku,” a melding of high and low brow. (I didn’t say it was a good idea.) Here’s a small sampling:
Smooth white porcelain,
The sounds of gushing water,
Soft, soothing echo.
For those living in the lap of luxury, a poem I called “Bidet”:
Beautiful fountain,
Gently tickling buttocks,
Washing all away.
And for the solitary, thinking person, “Stalled”:
Sitting quietly,
Behind partitions thinking,
Cut off from the world.
I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘Mac & Cheese.’
