All my life I’ve heard the phrase “Don’t use the good towels.” You’d think after hearing that my whole life I wouldn’t need to be reminded at this late stage in my life. Well, I don’t, so my response is always the same when I hear this warning. I say, “I know the rules.” When I was a kid, I first heard this warning phrase. I have always been told that the good towels are reserved for guests, of which I am not.
Women may deny this is true, but men understand. I think the blame should go to the first guy, maybe a mechanic or farmer that came in for lunch and wiped his hands on “The Good Towels.” This started a landslide of problems for future man. Anything considered good was off-limits to men.
The truth is men don’t care which towel they use, but they also can’t distinguish a good towel from a bad towel, unless the bad towel is ripped to shreds, but then it’s a rag. That’s another category entirely which we’ll discuss later.
This brings up a problem for men. What if you’re visiting your sister’s or sister’s-in-laws house? Are you a guest? Technically yes, but a frequent guest. I don’t know if that puts you in a different category. In that situation, I use "The Good Towels", unless I’m wearing jeans or a sweatshirt. Wet spots on dark clothing are barely noticeable. Plus, it seems like you’re invading the homeowner’s privacy if they find you rooting through the cabinet. You can explain you’re just looking for the old towels, but it still looks bad.
Even being a guest at someone’s home, I feel a little guilty when I use “The Good Towels.” I guess I’ve been brainwashed in that way. If you think about it there are other “Good” things that are reserved for guests only, china, silverware, fancy napkins, and special soaps.
Sometimes I walk up the front staircase, which falls in the forbidden zone. I can be such a rebel.. Everything, I’ve mentioned is minor, nothing that will cause physiological pain, so it’s all good.
The other day my wife said, “I need a screwdriver.”
“What for?” I enquired.
“I’m pulling weeds and I misplaced my garden tool.”
Wanting to be helpful I said. “Okay, They’re on the tool bench, downstairs . . . but don’t use the Good Ones.”
To which she responded. “Touché.”
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