Why Aldi Mamia Wipes Gave Me The Rage Of A Thousand Rabid Badgers

Oh Aldi. I had your back throughout the whole caterpillar cake thing, as did so many parents up and down the land. How do you repay us for this support? By reducing the quality of your Mamia wipes to the extent where I am just about ready to cleanse my baby’s arsehole using my wife’s favourite blouse because it will genuinely lead to less aggravation in my life.

Forget the ridiculous ‘shrinkflation’ from 64 sheets down to 60 per pack – there are bigger problems here. First of all, they seem to be a lot thinner, almost so thin that I worry about my index finger breaching the void and wearing the wipe like some kind of modest Victorian dress.

Beforehand, I really felt like I could ‘give it some,’ even when I treated myself to a luxury poo, and not have to worry about making a breakthrough. Now, every single pass makes me wince in fear of the inevitable.

That is of course if I can actually get a hold of any of the bastards in the first place. Let me be clear, in times of excessive shittening I don’t have the time to tenderly caress the packet in the same manner as a gentleman removing a lady’s brassiere or adjusting a thermostat until one wipe frees itself from the remainder of its moistened brotherhood.

With one hand simultaneously controlling all four limbs to ensure that his fecal matter doesn’t end up giving him an all over TOWIE pre-Marbs special, or even worse allowing him to do something that you can usually only find on specialist German VHS tapes from the 1980’s, I have just one hand remaining.

With the new wipes, it’s like a clown’s handkerchief. I just want one. Not eleven, just one.

Kindly reconsider your product specification with a view to returning to the trusted 64-wipe format. I have half a pack of the old ones left in the car, and I’m convinced that I could get fifty quid for them down the car boot this weekend to a fellow distressed parent with cash on the hip.

Sooner or later, stocks of the old ones will be so rare that mums and dads will be calling a shady dealer called ‘Big Tim’ who uses a burner Nokia 3310 to take orders and drop off individual old-style Mamia wipes in his top-spec BMW 5 Series with an exhaust wider than a hippo’s yawn for a tenner a throw.

What happens when Big Tim is forced to carelessly cut them with Flash floor wipes and Cilit Bang just to keep up with demand? Is this really what you want?

Also, before anyone starts banging on about the environment, I eat Quorn once a year to offset any damage to our planet. Please and thank you.