A memory I had while plunging kept me from excessive frustration over the matter.
I was somewhere in the neighborhood of four years old when I reached for the paper and found the perfect number of squares for my needs were all that remained on the roll. I was enchanted with this serendipity. I decided it was an experience I wished to repeat so I committed to memory the look of a toilet paper roll holding the perfect amount of paper and no more.
I contemplated the paper supply at each subsequent trip to the loo until finally, one day the conditions were right. Well, at least I decided they were close enough to right and I vowed as I sat that I'd dispose of every tissued speck before I left the room.
The toilet paper dispenser in that bathroom was positioned rather unconventionally, set high on the wall behind the toilet. This meant that I had to hop my tiny self off the pot, walk a few steps and then reach a-way up to access it. (My pre-school wiping routine started at my ankle, to account for drippage on the journey to the paper.) (TMI?)
On the happy day when I was to recreate the awesomeness, I went through my normal ritual: hop down, scurry over, reach the paper, wipe the drips off my leg, and onward. When it was all done I realized the disappointing truth. I had misjudged. There was still paper left. It didn't look like all that much paper though, and there was the matter of the vow I had made not to leave the room until it was gone so I soldiered on, carrying wads of paper from the wall to the toilet. It all got rather tiring. I wished I could give it up but I had vowed so really, how could I?
Eventually the toilet was full, and I do mean full. I started to worry about flushing. Why hadn't I noticed the problem sooner? I closed the lid, mashing down the top of the heap and with that mess taken care of (out of sight being as it is: out of mind) I turned my attention to that naughty toilet paper roll. The one who had misrepresented it's self as being so near empty. There was paper there still, and now the toilet had ceased to be an option for it's disposal.
I considered giving up at that point, but if I couldn't even keep a vow I'd made with myself what kind of person would I be? The waste basket came to mind and I set to work filling it. When that was full I reflected on my vow again and, deciding that I really had done all that I could do, released myself from the bond and scampered off to play with my integrity intact.
In light of that tale, Moo's experiment looses it's sting. Wouldn't you say?
My mother was surprised to hear the story a few years ago. Why? Because she had no knowledge of such a thing ever taking place. My father must have been the lucky one to come upon the scene.
It's a few days late, but thanks Dad and happy Father's Day.