By JOHN JAMES MARSHALL/Designated Writers

Yes, I will sheepishly admit, I have become one of those people now. What I used to do without a second thought has now become a conscious decision. I fully realize the stakes at hand.

The toilet paper shortage is now affecting my life. Four straight trips to the store and I’ve gone 0-for every time. Where as once I was a two-ply-only guy, I’d settle for one-play sandpaper now.

Which has forced me into a semi-rationing situation.

I am now taking intestinal stock of the matters at hand, even with the most remote of nature calls. I find myself asking, Is this potential trip really necessary?  Thankfully, half my waking hours are spent at work, so that makes it manageable. So there’s that.

We can laugh all we want about how bare the TP aisle is, but when you see your own personal supply start to dwindle, you can’t just go about this all willy nilly.

I am reminded of that playground diddy we all sung to the tune of the TV show “Branded” back in the early 1970s:

Stranded
Stranded on a toilet bowl
What do you do when you’re stranded
And you ain’t got a roll?

Don’t get me wrong: I haven’t gone all Sheryl Crow on you — she let us know a few years ago that she was helping save the planet with her one sheet/one visit policy — but a little rationing does become necessary.

You can say all you want about how these hoarders have lost their collective minds, but they have something that you don’t — lots of toilet paper.

Fortunately, I’m a male who lives alone which, in this case, is better than being the father of four girls. But I am well aware of the Charmin Countdown at my house. I have calculated that I’ve got a couple of weeks left to go. That is, unless there’s an intestinal incident, then it’s Quilted Northern Armageddon.

Wish me luck. And Cottenelle.