Buttered rump

A quizzical double take, and a very appropriate Labrador puppy-like tilt of the head, was his response when he noticed it for the first time.

Never one to delay any longer than strictly necessary in this aisle of the supermarket - because of his neurotic belief that nobody but nobody else in all of Dublin does disgusting stuff like pooing or using arsewipe - he couldn’t but focus in on the shelf all the same. His hand shot momentarily to his face as he realised.

My Lord, he thought, they’re selling brown coloured toilet roll, in even browner coloured wrapping. This has never been seen before. That’s brave. There's a reason it hasn't been seen before and all, the same reason why sanitary towels aren't packaged in fire engine red.

After a cursory glance around to make sure he was alone, he leaned in closer to confirm that yes, this was indeed brown toilet roll, and it was undeniably being sold in browner wrapping. The last time he had found toilet tissue so arresting was when he spied a new brand called Thick and Fast and thought how appropriate a name that was for jacks paper, until he realised they were, regrettably, kitchen rolls. An opportunity missed.

Wait a fucking minute though, he thought. Wha? What the…is that?…there on the label…is that toilet roll, in brown paper, with…with…butter on it? Butter? What? Butter???

It fucking was too, you know. It said so. Right there. On the label. Andrex Toilet Tissue with Shea Butter – the feel of luxury, no less. What the Jasus though. Buttered rolls? For wiping your arse with? You’d get quare looks in the bakery, he mused.

And the feel of luxury as well? Jesus, he sniffed like an oul' woman wrapping an overcoat across his breasts in disapproval, but we’ve shtarted to think fiersh highly of our lowly underparts altogether, hrrrmph and a good day to you too Mrs. Fitzgoggins. 

Where will it all end? Next thing you know we’ll be refusing to wipe ourselves with nothing less than strips of burgundy velvet cut from the robes of Louis XIV. Or with feathery boas. Or with a cutting from the Bayeaux tapestry, or even in ermine furs from freshly skinned minks. Or maybe we’ll just take the ad men literally and start cleaning our bumbums with a fresh Labrador puppy? Sure why not? They’re not just for Christmas, they’re for cleaning your arse it seems. Right up to Easter too I’d wager.

And it’s Shea butter no less. Oooooooh, Shea butter, we’ll coo in admiration, and then ask each other what the fuck Shea butter is.We won't know nor will we fucking care either, we'll be off down the chipper quicksmart for Sheabutteredbatterburgers to get with the craze.

Nope, no Utterly Butterly here, not to mention the very apt Low Low or traditional favourite Flora, which would even come with clear wiping instructions from a grinning golfer who knows how to avoid chafing because “five is the magic number.”

Marlon Brando, eh? 

What a pioneer.