 There are other thoughts, perhaps, to which one shouldn't know the
answer. Things like: How many towels is too many?When a house has
had seven people living in it at one time, it tends to harbor a
substantial collection of towels. Most of them look like they
should've been relegated to the rag pile long ago. That's because I
keep forgetting that towels and bras do not play nice together in
the washer and dryer. Bras are particularly aggressive because their
little hooks grab on to the tiniest loose thread and yank until the
towel looks like it's made of spaghetti noodles.
Still, I save them. I fold them all and place them
folded-side-out in my linen closet because … well … I may need all
126 of them one day.
Well, today was that day. I can tell you now, that no amount of
towels is too many for a day like today. Although, I would never
have imagined that the use I would have for them had nothing to do
with their usual bathroom duties.
In my laundry room I have a utility sink into which my washer
drains when it's on the spin cycle. I had some whites that needed to
be soaked in bleach water in the sink because whites never stay
white in my house.
My mother says I should simply buy dark-colored things so I'd
never have to soak them. I think that's silly because if everything
I had was dark-colored, they'd still get stained, and then I
couldn't soak them in bleach. Maybe people wouldn't see the stains,
but I would know, wouldn't I?
I was sitting in my living room listening to my daughter butcher
a song on the piano when my 6-year-old came in yelling about a flood
downstairs. There are many things this particular child would fib
about in order to get out of trouble, but "There's a flood
downstairs" is not in his usual repertoire. It didn't fit neatly
into his customary MO of "How do I get out of this one?"
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As this data sunk in, my feet began to move faster and faster, down
the hall, through the door, down the stairs, then WHAM! Flat on my
posterior. The floor was not only wet, and coincidentally,
slippery, but it had become a large wading pool. Laundry baskets
were bobbing in the waves that were caused when my rather large
backside hit the water. Toys were floating in careless abandon
around my feet. And the washer was merrily a-pumping more water into
the utility sink that was filled to capacity because I had plugged
it up to soak my whites.
I slipped and dripped over to the machine and punched it off just
as it was wringing the last bit of water from the clothes in the
spin cycle. I unplugged the sink. Then I looked at the carnage for
which I had only myself to blame.
I am now convinced that there is such a thing as a walking,
talking brain-dead person. That person would be me.
What was I thinking? How would I get all that water off the floor
with no drains?
Now I knew the reason I had saved all those threadbare, ripped
and stained towels! This was it! I raced to get an armful and threw
them down on the floor and ran to get more. By this time, my husband
and children had joined the fray. We'd sop up a dozen towels, then
toss them into the washer for a spin cycle while we sopped up water
with more towels. Never was I so happy to have so many towels.
In fact, the next time there's a sale at Wal-Mart, I'm going to
buy a couple of dozen more. When there are brain-dead people in the
house, there's no such thing as too many towels.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books. |
