I don’t know where it could have possibly happened in the raising of my younger sister; the epic failure.

My mother and I raised her with such care and diligence. We nurtured her. We loved her. We treated her with kindness and compassion.

She’s my first memory. I used to have a different one, but I forgot it. She brought me Play Dough home from the hospital when she was born. That was pretty cool.

When bad dreams attacked, I gently rubbed her back and whispered to her about the pretty butterflies, until only butterflies remained. I taught her to say the word “church.” I don’t know why I remember that, but I do.

I taught her to ride a bicycle. I put her on the bicycle, pointed her downhill, and said, “Don’t fall off. Don’t crash.” Excellent advice. It worked, she’s been riding bicycles ever since. I don’t recall her ever falling off (not that I’ve been there for every experience)…and I don’t quite remember how the first one landed…ended.

She got her way all the time. She got the new mattress every time we moved — even after it stopped being the new mattress. She got the good sheets, the ones with the little roses.

She got THE spoon more often than I did. But I showed her…until she sent the registered letter to Santa and I had to give it back. But that’s another story.

So, I don’t understand how it is possible she could have strayed so far from the right and moral path. What entrapment, what bait, what lies could have swayed her so far from truth? How could she have succumbed to the darkness?

After all my mother and I did to raise my sister (who is 3 years, 3 months, and 5 days younger than I am, so I was instrumental in her rearing), what temptation could have been so strong as to lure her to the wickedness of putting the toilet paper on backward.

She rolls it under.

It is…anathema.

Everyone with any sense knows it should roll over the top so you can see the edge coming, not come from under. Under, is a guess (I didn’t say crap-shoot there, although I really wanted to) if it’s coming to you, or snaking down the wall.

I know for certain that she grew up in a household that did it the right way. Somehow, somewhere…she changed.

Maybe it was her left-handedness. Maybe it was those green eyes, mom and I are both sensibly blue. Maybe it’s her 5′-3″ stature. Oh, no wait, mom’s the same height. I’m the outlier there at 5′-7″.

Must have been that all women’s college she went to! Oops, I went to one too, couldn’t have been that.

I know, must be the fish and seafood. Oh wait, that’s not it either. I’m the black sheep there. I’m the one who strayed from the fold. We’re like the two ends of a seesaw. They’re the teeter and I’m the totter.

I didn’t discover my sister’s aberrant behavior until Christmas this year when she flaunted it at me. Flaunted it, I tell you! We were at Mom’s having a lovely time. Mom has what I think of as a pocket bathroom: it’s a sink and a commode. It fits into a little pocket of space — a teeny little pocket of space.

And that is the space where I learned the truth about my sister (I always thought she must be adopted).

When I ran out of toilet paper, I (being the good and faithful daughter that I am) put on a new roll — in the correct direction, edge coming over the top. Later that day, when I went back to the same bathroom, the roll and holder were off and sitting on the counter.

Why would anyone do that? Most of us get annoyed when someone doesn’t refill the roll. Now here we are and someone has taken a perfectly good, refilled roll and dislodged it, then put it aside. I did my diligent daughterly duty again and replaced said roll into its holder, washed up and went about my day.

That’s when she struck: my sister, with her new aberrant streak of rebellion. The next time I went in there, the roll had been reversed. There were only four people in the house. I instantly ruled myself out. I knew I was not in the role of the roll reverser. I don’t think my mother cares enough to reverse rolls mid roll, besides, when I got to the house, before my sister, mind you, roll was right. The third person lives with me and we are in agreement about roll rotation.

That leaves my sister.

My beloved little sister betrayed us all.

Did I mention the fact that I call this a pocket bathroom? It’s like the tiny pocket you can stick a quarter into on the right-hand side of a pair of jeans above the real pocket kind of pocket bathroom. I don’t think the door opens fully into the bathroom and you sit a little sideways on the commode. The toilet paper holder makes a nice armrest, or rib rest if that’s a thing. It’s terribly convenient! Just not terribly large.

TheTPflowsbetterunderthanover.

But it’s the principle of the thing! I fixed it twice and she undid it at least once just to toss it in my face. Just because she may have been not wrong about it doesn’t mean she was not left either. It was perfectly fine the way it was, breaking off after every two squares.

You know, we’ve both been out of Mom’s household longer than we lived in it. I really cherish the memories we made together. We sang together, played games, put puzzles together, laughed, recited poetry, drove a lot, we did family stuff. I love those memories. I love the fact that my sister really, truly did send a registered letter to Santa over a spoon. That year for Christmas everything I got from her revolved around coal (charcoal pencils and other drawing supplies). Everything she got revolved around spoons, plastic spoons, silverware, and THE spoon mounted in a shadow box where it was forever unusable.

Our friends thought we were crazy. My friends couldn’t believe my (adult) sister would do such a thing. I wished I had thought of something like that first!

At whatever point in life she decided under is better than over, I guess it’s okay, I love her to death. She’s a great sister. I guess I can cut her some slack.

As long as it’s over.

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