I keep a hand towel hanging on the stove in the kitchen. Usually it is navy blue with white stripes. I use it every time I need to dry my hands, the table or the counter. Or wipe up a spill. So seventy-three times a day.
Today was no different in how often I needed my hand towel.
But it just wasn’t there for me.
Literally. Not there.
So I put out a new one and smiled because my sweet husband had thrown the other one in the wash!
Not half an hour later, I again reached for it only to the the empty space.
Sweet hubby had thrown that one in the laundry, too.
So I laughed and dug another one out of the drawer.
Pretty soon I needed it again … and again it wasn’t there. Not sure where that one went, but I had to dig through the clean laundry for a new one this time.
Then there was pee on the kitchen floor (carpet!) and Kate used the hand towel to try to wipe it up. Yuck.
So I cleaned the carpet and then dug through the laundry basket again for a clean hand towel.
As I’m getting the girls more goldfish (whales, actually) to snack on, I see Meg grab the hand towel, throw it on the floor and jump on it. To clean up some spill … maybe her imagination?
Now I’m off to see if there is just one more clean, dry hand towel so I’ll have something use for the rest of the day.
Or maybe I should just carry it with me!
