The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

Okay, out with it. Yesterday I stole a roll of toilet paper from a grocery store restroom (here in the US, by the way, we do not say ‘washroom’ or ‘interac’ for that matter — unless, of course, you seek the derision of clerks – it’s ‘restroom’ and ‘debit’). I slipped a roll into my purse – it fit like a glove – and walked out casually, grabbing a couple of samples on the way. Breakfast cookies, if you’re wondering. The reason for my petty theft – well let’s just say’s it’s complicated. To paraphrase the Big Lebowski, “There are a lotta ins, lotta outs, lotta strands to keep in my head these days.” And may I add, that when I walked past the five-dollars-for-four-rolls of organic toilet paper which I might have succumbed to buying in my organic weakness, I felt victorious.

Safely outside:

“Guess what I did?”

“Um…I dunno.”

“I stole a roll of toilet paper from the ladies bathroom. (Silence. Beat. Beat.) Do you think I’m a dirty dog?”

“Whoa! My lady’s a dirty dog, toilet paper thief. Watch out!”

But the triumph was short-lived. I ended up in a deluge of reflection on the nature of transgression, my fallen humanity, and the like, which, frankly, has been exhausting and not worth the free roll. On the up side, I can say I suddenly identified with a broader range of humanity. I abruptly understood how stealing can become such a temptation. I had met my family’s immediate needs without spending a cent. Don’t worry I’m not actually going to become a klepto…I’m just saying, my perspective was enlarged.

I can now understand how the guy who paid his electricity bill with our credit card might have been tempted to do so. I might even write him a note. I could drop it by with some pilfered flowers: “We’re all in this together!”