The Problematic Towel While Camping Out at Home

Sun blazing down on my head, I tottered through the door of the house into what should have been a cool refuge but instead grit blew about and the noise of banging intense and outside the beckoning cool slice of blue. Sweat sticking my clothes to my back and salt rimming my lips convinced me. I dashed to the bathroom, ripped off my clothes, pulled on a swim suit and then took the plunge.

Aw sweet, icy cool water skimming along my legs, bubbling past my face. Heaven. I swam until I was tired and fingers wrinkling then called to my husband, "I forgot a towel."

He came outside in his racing suit, beer in hand with a puzzled look on his face. "Towel?"

Oops. Accustomed for three weeks of towels mysteriously appearing any time we went for a swim, out for lunch, or on any of our excursions to find insurance offices, driver's license departments etc, we'd forgotten a minor little detail. Our towels were all neatly packed and en route someplace in America. My husband pulled on clothing and headed, destination the local grocery for two towels and deli sandwiches to go while I huddled on the shady pool shelf hoping I had skin left by his return. Those handy towels worked well but the washer was sitting disconnected in the garage so after a few days we decided on a few more, so I matched the new towels to the colors of the new bedroom decor, a dark wine.

Next day, my husband got up early eager to get us settled in. He jumped into the shower and all was tranquil until I heard a blood chilling scream. I dashed to the bathroom and found, not blood as expected, not broken bones or heart attack but teddy. My husband reached out arms like a zombie and mumbled through fuzz, " he'p me, cand see."

I reached up with a licked finger and cleared the towel sheddings from his eyes. Then I tried a happy face on his belly and ... well, this is a fun form of relationship building, try it sometime.

So with the plethora of towels we ran into our next problem, where to hang the towels? All of the hardware normal used for the task had safely been stripped from the walls for painting leaving us our choice of dirty floors and counters or better yet, doors.

Part of the problem with being nearly blind without glasses and having a spouse with the same problem is that you wander around your home not quite sure where the other person is. One day I discovered my husband's whereabouts when I grabbed for the same towel from one side of the door and he from the other. The ensuing tug a war produced a side effect of great benefit-not only is towel tugging a fun game but it's a great way to remove the dust of centuries. Really, try it.

Finally, the moving company delivered our goods and horror of horror, when we started unboxing everything, we found towels.

I know, you thought we'd be happy, but, we didn't realize how many towels we had until we had no place to put them. So we did the best we could, we piled a few on the edge of each sink, stuffed them on the garage rack, left them in laundry baskets, it soon became difficult to move without tumbling a towel into wet paint or onto freshly cleaned floors. No problem.

We've now become so skilled at sending towel messages that we figure we can open a business flagging disasters like incoming hurricanes and landing air craft for the county. Where there's a will, there's a way, and a towel to smother it.