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Sunday, September 21, 2008

Drip Dry

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what happens to my towels. There are times I think the door to my bathroom leads to some sort of lavatorial Bermuda triangle where terrycloth goes to die.

Today my husband disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower. Seconds later he pried the door open a crack and stuck his head out.

“Have you washed towels lately?”

“Have you shaved your legs lately?” I love the man, but I'm not the only one in the house that can rinse and spin.

“I’m not trying to be sexist. I just want to dry off.”

“Yesterday I washed everything that resembled a towel. I even threw in that funny sweater your mother gave you for Christmas.”

“That’s not terrycloth. It's cashmere”

"So that's why there was enough fluff in the lint trap to knit a goat.”

The door closed. I heard furtive searching sounds coming from the bathroom closet. Seconds later he peered out of the door crack with one distraught eye.

“What’s the matter?”

“All that’s left is the froggie towel from when the kids were little and the pink velour Martha Stewart with the floral design.”

“Go for Martha's flowers. Froggie repels liquid. You can dry on that thing for half an hour and still retain enough water to qualify as a camel.”

Later that night I found six hand towels and a frayed wash cloth drying on the towel rack. I guess he didn’t want to take any chances with the blossoms. I tossed them all in the laundry.

It’s not that we don’t own other towels. If all the terrycloth in our possession were draped across the Atlantic, the ocean would dry up to the size of a turtle’s teardrop. But our towels are given to vanishing when emergencies arise. Harry Houdini would be envious of the sleight of hand towels we’ve experienced.

The day that Bill Dear kept screaming for something to wipe the dipstick with when he was changing the oil, the guest towels disappeared. The day Son One and Son Two were heard arguing over who was to blame for the massive Fruit Loop spill on the Oriental carpet, the blue towels I got for Mother’s Day went missing. The day we adopted the third puppy, I took out stock in cotton futures.

There’s nothing I can do about the towels that are already gone, but there are preventive measures I can take to guard against these towel-thieving guys in my house.

First thing Monday morning, I’m heading to Wal-Mart to snag a buggy full of pink velour towels with a floral design.

If that doesn’t work, I’ll just have to install automatic air dryers in the bathroom. They're not very thorough, but it's best to let your delicates drip dry anyway.

1 comment:

colbymarshall said...

I'm not really sure what happened, but half of my towels have disappeared, too. I'm starting to think towels are a sneaky breed of their own!