I run the risk of slipping into Andy Rooney mode here, but this latest observation really chafes my butt.
Figuratively, that is.
My photography skills aside, take a look at this roll of toilet paper. It's short. Not on sheets but on width. There was a time, way back in 2007 perhaps, when you'd put a new roll of toilet paper on the spool and you wouldn't see the spool.
But any fool can see they've shaved centimeters off the width of my toilet paper.
I understand companies trying to squeeze every bit of profit they can by tinkering with the packaging. Mayonnaise jars with 15 3/4 ounces of mayonnaise instead of 16. Pickles, with less pickles and more water. Even razor blades, available in the convenient 4-pack priced the same as the now unavailable convenient 5-pack.
But this is Toilet Paper. A product we've been trained to use since stepping out of diapers. We have a lifelong familiarity with its shape. Its texture. Its quilted 2 ply comfort. You can't start changing that and not give us any warning. It alters our rhythm. Interrupts our routine. It throws a monkey wrench into what was once a well-oiled operation.
It creates the potential for an Exxon Valdez-like accident in the bathroom.
And that's messed up.
Literally, that is.