How hard would it be for the installer of toilet paper dispensers to put them at shoulder level, a foot in front of the commode, instead of next to your hip? How many times have you sat in a public restroom and had to bend over, until your chest is almost on your lap, to reach up inside the poorly designed plastic box, whose opening is only about eighteen inches from the floor? All you can do is keep turning the roll around and around, hoping the end will magically appear. Occasionally, the considerate person before you will have left the end dangling, perilously close to the dirty floor. The quality of the paper is too thin and scratchy, a separate issue, but contributes to its inaccessibility. If you have carpel tunnel, forget it—you’ll never be able to wrench your wrist enough to find the end of the roll that’s laughing at you each time you miss it, as you spin the cylinder. While visiting a handicapped stall, I was pleased to have the choice of two dispensers—one whose opening was below my knee so the paper hung almost to the floor, maybe to entertain a child, while the other easy-to-reach toilet paper holder was mounted so that the paper fell loosely at eye level—perfect. Now, how ‘bout a step up to two-ply?