There are significant developments in my bathroom renovation, officially the longest-running three piece bath remodel in Western Canada. Everything that’s been done so far looks wonderful, and the end is in sight (largely because it’s a clear evening) but the length of the project has reduced me to celebrating every completed task through an interpretive dance and an Elizabethan sonnet. I am sparing you both of those today.

I photographed the latest check mark on my list to show off right here on Blue Speckled Pup. I don’t have a clue how to use Photoshop, but I knocked my photo into black and white to spread a little artistic zing into this joy sandwich.

And so, without further rambling:

For the last six months, the toilet paper has perched on the back of the toilet, rested the edge of the tub, and since the vanity’s been installed, teetered on the corner of the counter. While these temporary locations have sort of worked for storing the toilet paper, they have had serious pitfalls. The most serious issue by far is the tendency of the toilet paper to take a swan dive. So far, I’ve lost a roll to the open vent behind the toilet, thanks to the cat, and I’ve knocked at least two into the sink before the foamy toothpaste spit was rinsed away. I refuse to use compromised TP on my business, thanks, because my business is important stuff. If I can brush the cat hair off sufficiently, I’ll keep it around, but there is a very fine line. One night, Leroy even managed to knock a nearly new roll directly into my bubble bath while I was soaking. Had it been closer to my birthday, I might have fashioned a Charmin piñata, but the time was wrong and the roll was wasted. It’s been a long, sad journey to my snazzy new paper holder, and I’m glad it’s over.

I don’t understand the television commercials and store flyers that refer to it as “bath tissue.” Please, there is no secret about what happens with it. Euphemisms help no one here. Plus, the words don’t fit. I’ve already experienced what happens if you try to bathe with the stuff: not ideal. Not the mention the fact that “tissue” is reminiscent of delicate flowers on a kindergarten Mothers’ Day card, something ethereal that’s somewhat pretty but minimally functional. I need to trust my toilet paper, folks. That stuff has a critical job to do, and feeling like I can count on it improves my day.

What the toilet paper holder signifies in the bigger picture, folks, is that we’re moving into finishing touches. The last three paint chips are duking it out and the victor should be on the walls by the end of the month. All I’m telling you right now is that won’t be beige, because beige and its whole inbred family gives me pain and should be banished from the world. Expect a rant on that another day. When the bathroom is finally, finally done, I will post a celebratory full-colour photo spread à la Better Average Homes and Gardens. In the meantime, I’m going to keep spouting poetry and busting into my happy dance whenever one more thing is complete.

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