Beware the dangerous liars among us.
Strategically aligning myself with the cheese platter at a gathering this weekend, I used a Ritz cracker with limited structural integrity to shovel mouthfuls of Mersey Valley into my gob.
As with most parties, unfortunately, socialising with strangers is par for the course.
For those who limp their way through conversation, Tamworth's recent rainfall has provided the perfect social crutch.
Thankfully the outbreak of covid-19 and its subsequent pandemic has livened up the joint.
Now, Woolworths and Coles are fresh out of toilet paper and small-talkers love it. From Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth II to Jacqui Lambie, Kath Day-Knight and Daz the local tradie, everybody wipes.
Toilet paper panic-buying has allowed us to cross social and economic status boundaries that have separated people for years.
But, it has left me wondering.
The taste of sharp, delicious cheddar still not enough to deter me from the fact that in a city with a population of 62,000 people, at least 30 per cent* of you are liars.
At a party of about 20 people, statistically at least three* of those jolly wipers looked me in the eye, smiled and laughed about the ridiculousness of panic-buying while day-dreaming about the three-month stockpile of toilet paper, canned beets and fettucine back at home.
Less than six months ago, we saw the absolute best of the true blue Aussie spirit as bushfires ravaged the nation. Fast forward to the coronavirus crisis and we're seeing the worst.
Men and women of the world sporting 'Can I Speak to the Manager?' haircuts are shoving the elderly out of the way for some two-ply Quilton.
Two-ply Quilton. No wonder panic buyers are angry.
My advice? Respect your privates (4-ply minimum) and respect others.
It's time the people pinching all the loo paper took a number 2 and stopped giving the rest of us the shits.
*Indicates statistics I made up.
- Madeline Link is an ACM journalist