I Wiped My Arse With Torn Out Maths Notes

My recollections as I queue patiently to buy some luxury toilet paper.

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

I used to wipe my arse with torn-out maths notes from college.

Today I am typing this as I am queuing in a Waitrose to buy double-quilted, lemon-scented, luxury toilet paper.

Life happens.

Sure, my days of misery were grim — hardly the holocaust or the terrors of war, but it was grim in its own uniquely middle-class way. And not always to do with money (or lack of) either. Mostly to do with my choices.

I cleaned my bum with raw notebook paper (and clogged up the student dorm complex in the process) for three years not because I couldn’t afford to buy some bog roll, but because I consciously chose to choose cigarettes or an extra pint or a taxi ride home after shenanigans instead.

Also why I used to take my dirty laundry with me in the shower so I could wash them & myself at once. Both ozzing wafts of Tesco’s finest body wash (29p for a litre at the time).

I tell you this because life comes at you fast.

Somewhere in my mid-20s, after getting relatively accustomed to a reasonably sized 4-digit paycheck hitting my account, I made the conscious decision to grow up. And obviously, I…