There was a row of toilet roll carcasses on our bathroom window sill recently, displayed like tattered trophies.
Some had been discarded on the floor, while others had, remarkably, found refuge in the recycling bin out yonder.
First-world problems, I know, but I'm not the only person to face this weekly plight or battle of the wills.
Heck, there are even printed canvases for sale, slapped with the words: "Replacing the toilet paper will not cause brain damage.''
Trust me, I know.
I bought one, two years into my marriage, thinking the retro printed reminder heralded above the toilet would be all the household needed.
Three years on, and the issue still plagues - and the canvas, I'm certain, has developed a smirk that makes me wonder if the joke was on me in the first place.
Now, before I find myself bundled into a newly assembled dog box in the most cobweb-ridden corner of the garage, I will hasten to add that my husband is quite handy with the old dishcloth and vacuum cleaner.
But we have reached a standoff over the toilet paper roll skeletons.
And I have joined the masses of females, debating, venting and lamenting about the issue.
Just Google us, we are a breed of our own.
The old Scottish stubbornness manifested within, and I stopped removing their sad souls, leaving the collection to become a momentary household joke - that is, until there was talk of a newspaper column, and then suddenly the rolls grew legs and started walking.
But the question must be asked, because we all know this falls in the "important questions'' category, why is it so hard for men to remove toilet rolls?
Has the common joke been accepted as the norm?
He says: "It's not that I'm lazy, I just have other things on my mind.''
The fact toilet paper was indeed invented by a male suggests at some stage it was a poignant issue.
It was first produced by Joseph C. Gayetty, of New York, in 1857 and was available as late as the 1920s.
One has to wonder when the whole used-toilet-roll issue first began to grate on people's nerves.
Which group of American housewives started the conversation, bemoaning the task of picking up after family members in the bathroom?
Credit to you all, companies are now making money out of your tribulation.
For all my feminism arguments, and proud delight in the plight of equality, there are moments, I have to confess, when I wonder if relationships were less complicated when roles were clearly defined and owned.
Men earned the wage, and women put the dinner on the table.
Washing was pegged by tender, water-wrinkled hands, while men ran their weary legs, propelling push mowers over the summer grass.
Women nurtured the children while men tended to the mechanics of cars, farm machinery, etc.
It was all pretty cut and dried, albeit a little mundane, and very stifling at times.
At the risk of making the laborious tasks sound romantic, and relationships harmonious, I have no doubt frustration roared like a tethered beast at times.
Women would have dreams of other lives - one where they could receive an education, vote, earn an income, among many things - and have equality and respect in the household.
There would have been men, too, who would have loved to be the "stay at home dad'' figure, but society's tight social definitions dictated that "real men brought home the bacon''.
I'm guessing that as harsh as judgements can be at times, those men also toed the line in confining roles.
For me, there's nothing like pulling the throttle on the lawnmower, hearing it engage and adjusting the earmuffs into position.
There's satisfaction in taking ownership of the lawn and the sweet smell of achievement.
Learning the mechanics of cars doesn't intimidate me, although I have a memory like a sieve when it comes to the fundamentals.
I do these tasks because I enjoy them, and my husband and I want to raise our family in an environment where community is about teamwork and respect, and having a go regardless of gender.
But then there are the toilet paper rolls.
It doesn't matter whether they were enveloped in bleached, recycled, perfumed, floral or plain budget paper, the brown tubes remain an issue stubbornly constipated in time.
It's like they are the leftover scraps from another century.
The only foreseeable respite from this debate comes with his own challenges: that being our 2-year-old son, who will gladly take any rubbish away (or anything for that matter) with a flush down the toilet.
On that note, can anyone recommend a good plumber?
● Sasha Turner is a Dunedin writer.
