I must be missing something.

Can someone explain to me the apparent overwhelming difficulty of sliding a newly opened roll of toilet paper onto a toilet paper dowel?

Maybe I’m doing it wrong, but I just don’t find the task as daunting as it would appear most of my roommates and co-workers do. I consistently find rolls of newly unwrapped toilet paper sitting smugly atop the back of the toilet, on the counter, on the bar directly above the toilet paper holder, and on the side of the bathtub. Basically I routinely find the great white roll anywhere but resting comfortably around the rod for which it, and the strategically placed hole bored into the center of it, was created. Sometimes, to my great dismay, I even find the t.p. resting on the ‘always less than sanitary looking floor’. And yes, this is the same tissue designed specifically for areas of the body you wouldn’t typically think you’d want to come into contact with anything previously occupying space on an “always less than sanitary looking floor”.

But the floor, however foot-trodden and filthy, is not the dreaded toilet paper dowel, and as such, apparently remains a far more appealing alternative.

Understanding this affinity for leaving the toilet paper anywhere but where it rightfully belongs to exist both within the workplace and at home has resulted in my formulation of three theories which attempt to explain this oh so mysterious toilet paper phenomenon:

1. The sheer muscle needed to first unwrap the toilet paper from its packaging before use is so exhausting so as to warrant the unwrapper worthy of a lengthy rest, whereupon this person promptly forgets to re-mount the roll upon the dowel before exiting the facility.

2. My roommates and co-workers are attempting to drive me insane.

3. My roommates and co-workers understand my distaste for being generally useless, and so, acting out of sheer benevolence, to ensure I feel needed they so thoughtfully reserve for me the important jobs, like re-uniting the toilet paper roll with its bathroom partner.