Julie Jay: My refusal to replace the toilet roll at home is a gender equality issue

Last week, I bumped into a friend at my equivalent of a nightclub these days — the dairy section in my local supermarket.

My friend started quoting some terrifying anecdotes about the consequences of giving kids anything more daring than natural yoghurt and dry crackers.

“Julie, my friend’s son once had a cheese-string and ever since all he wants to do is watch Cars the movie on repeat. Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence?”

While sharing her snacking conspiracy theories, her phone started ringing on repeat.

“You better get that,” I said, fearing it could be Elon Musk ringing to tell her she had divulged too many state secrets.

Adjusting her invisible tinfoil hat, she rolled her eyes.

“It’s just Conor looking for something,” she sighed, the mention of her husband’s name instantly depleting her energy reserves.

Much to my relief, she answered because a phone ringing out fills me with such anxiety that I field all scam calls for fear I might upset a poor criminal who is just trying to do his job.

“Conor, for the last time, the nappies are in the nappy bag,” she berated down the phone, before hanging up abruptly. “Honestly”, she said, “it’s like being married to Joe Biden.”

The analogy felt unfair — forgetful as Conor is, he doesn’t confuse Egypt with Mexico — but nonetheless, I got it. Whether it says so in the Constitution or not, most women do more in the home than men.

I think it’s safe to say women do the lion’s share of the domestic duties.

Before the men who read this column get in touch to tell me I’ve got this all wrong, let me share what I feel is irrefutable anecdotal evidence to back up my mud-slinging.

Men do bits in the gaff, don’t get me wrong, of course they do. But just how much they do can be measured by the fact they can have entire secret families and we don’t even notice they’re gone. 

Do they have a secret family or are they just playing five-a-side on a Tuesday and a Thursday? Who knows? But more importantly, who cares if it allows us a night in front of the telly to watch First Dates in peace?

To double down on my tenuous hypothesis, have you ever encountered a woman with a secret second family? 

No, of course not, because why would a woman choose to spend two days a week training a guy called Stephen in Claremorris as well as keeping tabs on the fella at home?

With the referendum looming, the question of gender roles within the home is a nice little icebreaker when trying to make conversation with the person standing behind you in an ATM queue.

Of course, compared to olden times, men do more now, but the bar was low, if ’80s films are anything to go by, specifically the hit comedy starring Ted Danson, Tom Selleck and Steve Guttenberg called Three Men and a Baby.

The entire premise of the film revolves around a man who has to — wait for it — look after his own baby, and it was a runaway hit. 

‘This is gas,’ Irish audiences heralded. ‘Comedy gold’ raved the critics, because a man doing the domestic bits was practically unheard of at the time.

Regardless of the outcome of the upcoming referendum, I’m not sure it’s going to bring about gender equality in the home anytime soon, and I have the empty toilet roll holder to prove it.

Yes, we have been minus toilet roll on the holder in our downstairs bathroom for the last six weeks, and it has led to a full-on impasse. Every day, I tell myself I will go to my grave rather than replace the roll, and every day it goes unreplaced.

Each morning, as my husband conducts a business meeting from the loo, he reaches behind for the paper before being confronted, head-on, by the brown roller of shame. 

Yet still, he doesn’t replace it with a new roll, happy to give himself a twisted gut rather than do his civic duty. I wait it out because in my family the women are nothing if not committed to playing the long game.

A female relative many years ago, shared her favourite phrase with me: ‘If you stand by the banks long enough, you will soon see the bodies of your enemies floating down the river,’ which is a lovely sentiment but, to be fair, she could have just written happy birthday on the card.

Still, the image comes to mind daily as I go to replace the roll, and in doing so, do God’s work.

But I hold firm because this is not just about toilet paper — this is all about gender equality, whether my poor old husband realises it or not.

I truly believe the perennial conflict as to who replaces the toilet roll is the first step on the road to equality within the home. 

After all, every revolution had to start somewhere, and what better place than the loo, where all the big world decisions are made.