All right, here’s the poop: after a couple of plumbing disasters in our new house, Rob and I were advised not to flush anything but single-ply toilet paper. As the words left the plumber’s mouth, it seemed like a fate worse than death. How could we survive without toilet paper as thick as a duvet, constructed with quilted ridges and impregnated with vitamin E, aloe, and a magic ointment from the Fountain of Youth for all I know? This was coming dangerously close to trampling on our divine rights as Americans, and I expected our president, strong leader that he is, to launch an air strike within days.

Why does our plumbing hate America?

But then we bought the accursed single-ply toilet paper and got used to it in a matter of days (just as I have gotten used to skim milk and unsweetened peanut butter). Now, anything thicker (or with more fat, or with more sugar) seems ridiculously unwarranted.

Sadly, this only goes so far. I tried to sacrifice my designer shirts for bargain garb from Wal-Mart, but my epidermis disintegrates upon contact with ugly and unnatural fibers.