Occasionally in this modern age, a new and innovative way is introduced, and the old is gleefully discarded — eventually.

I was traveling with my friend Paul Lockhart more than 20 years ago when nature called upon him at a most inopportune time and place. Fortunately for brother Paul, his sister Susan was along with her newborn baby girl.

Susan introduced Paul to a brand new concept; one he was hesitant — yet bound — to embrace. She offered him the only thing she had that could help in his untimely hour of need.

He emerged from the situation with a spring in his step and a newfound appreciation for baby-powder-scented, pre-moistened tissues.

Paul's eagerness to share with us his refreshing experience was unanimously frowned upon and largely drowned out by groans of protest. But I remember him declaring there would come a day when his traveling companions — and indeed all of society — would know and subscribe to a similar purification of body and mind.

I scoffed at the notion. As with most Americans, I had to have children of my own before I could fully conceptualize the cleansing, revolutionary power of wet wipes.

Aside from their most obvious utility, wet wipes are uniquely handy for an endless variety of household situations. No parent of young children ever leaves home, or stays home, without them.

I cannot imagine how our own parents must have suffered in a world without wet wipes.

Actually, I do recall their agony. I was there. I saw my mother flush the cloth diapers of my younger siblings without letting go. I witnessed the smelly pile of baby laundry that accumulated in a sealed bucket beside the changing table.

And I remember my mother pulling slightly used tissues from her purse for the purpose of making my face presentable. She would either lick the tissue herself, or have me extend my tongue for that purpose.

A recent experience at my house caused me to shiver at the abrasive prospect of returning to those primitive times. I asked my wife, Sharon, for a new pack of wet wipes to resupply our bathroom dispenser.

Since the birth of our twin 4-year-old daughters, we have purchased wipes by the case at the local discount warehouse. My wife said the box was empty, which was distressful on its own.

But then Sharon actually suggested that the need for wet wipes has passed at our home.

"Our girls are older now," she said. "Wet wipes aren't cheap. I think we can get by without them."

Americans were first introduced to manufactured toilet paper in 1857. It didn't catch on right away with everyone. But no one who experienced the new product ever said he preferred a page from the Farmer's Almanac.

Go back to a world without wet wipes? I won't sit still for it.

I'd sooner take a road trip with a carload of screaming children — and without the DVD player.

Mark Rutledge can be contacted at mrutledge@coxnc.com