Paper towels

I may be wrong, but you're still an idiot

Don't you hate it when you drag your tired legs upstairs to get something, decide you're so tired when you get to the top, that you should sit and rest (by 'rest' I mean check in on Pinterest).  After about fifteen minutes, sometimes it takes awhile to recover, you head back downstairs and realize you forgot what you went up for.  

Damn, no paper towels.  I'm in the middle of cleaning the kitchen.  Improvise...let's see here... ah, yes.  Those nasty dish cloths my husband bought me.  I know, the nerve, buying "me" dish cloths (that's another post).  I say nasty because I'm a mild germaphobe and the thought of wiping, rinsing, and reusing the same cloth grosses me out.  But I feel sooo tired.  Damn those wash cloths.  They're inside that drawer, laughing at me.  I can hear them.  I can do this.  Hhhmm.  Interesting.  Wow, I used the fluffy little guy for everything.  It was great!  

Shoot.  Now I have to admit to my husband - he was right.  The problem is, I'm like an old dog, I don't like new tricks, unless there are treats involved, in which case I usually reconsider.  When Eric comes home with some new gadget or thingy (and he does frequently) a fairly predictable string of sentences spew out of  my mouth (yes, I sometimes spew): "What did you get that for?  We don't need that!  I don't even like that.  That's ridiculous. You must think we're made of money.  And the Grande Finale...(drum roll, please) You're an Idiot!" I can actually get that all out in one breath.  Don't try this at home, I'm a professional.  I've had lots of practice.  Trust me.


Fortunately, I am not afraid to admit when my husband is right.  It happens more than I like to admit.  Confusing, huh?  Stay with me people.  I'm not afraid to admit it, I just don't like to admit it.  I admit it, sometimes I'm a small person.  But am I really a small person if I admit I'm sometimes a small person?  OMG, I digress (a lot).  I could go on with this...but I'll spare you the visual on my neuroses. I try to limit those to one per post and germaphobia got here first.  


So, I like my fluffy little bundle of goodness.  Mine will not be laying around moist and icky, but I will be using them more often.  All this brings me to my next question; who stores paper towels upstairs in the linen closet anyway?  Eric must have started that tradition, because that is not a logical place to store paper towels.  Maybe he is an idiot after all.  Ha, not really.  Gotta go...have to holler for Eric to throw down some paper towels and thank him for the lovely dish cloths <wink>.