I'm ashamed to admit that The Boy and I went without toilet paper in our house for a full four days. Since you won't believe me if I lie and tell you that I simply didn't use our facilities during that time, I'll go ahead and admit the truth. We brought a roll of paper towels into the bathroom. This, of course, is damnable, but I promise you that I used the paper towels minimally.
Finally, a couple of days ago, I found a package of toilet paper rolls on my bed; even though it was my turn to buy, The Boy had bought toilet paper.
He also bought soap. It was definitely not his turn to buy soap, and I'm not sure that I'll ever allow it to be his turn to buy soap again.
This morning I stepped into the shower to find a brand new, vibrantly green bar of Irish Spring. You must know that using Irish Spring soap in the shower is not anything like bathing in an actual Irish spring. It is more like bathing with several elderly leprechauns in a steamy vat of cheap aftershave. It is now pretty much guaranteed that I won't get a boyfriend until we use up all the soap (which, since The Boy was kind enough to buy an economy-size package, will be a long, long time) since single men will all assume that I have a boyfriend who's either very small and green, or very old. Or both.