Terry and I argue about towels.
Don’t mock: it’s a serious issue, towel-management. Marriages have ended over less. Our specific towel-related issue (like most of our domestic issues, come to think of it) revolves around the fact that I like things neat and Terry… not so much. I mean, it’s not that he doesn’t like things neat, I hasten to add. It’s more that it doesn’t really bother him whether they are or not: he just doesn’t see mess, whereas I see mess everywhere. Even in places that aren’t actually messy.
So, I like things neat, and, in towel terms, this means that if towels are folded, they should be folded in neat squares/rectangles (or occasionally rolled, and then carefully arranged in attractive piles), as opposed to, say, rumpled up any old how. If towels are to be stacked, meanwhile, they should be stacked in a strict order, with the largest towel at the bottom of the pile, and the smallest one at the top. So you wouldn’t, say, put a hand towel on the bottom of the pile, and then place a bath sheet on top of it, because THAT WOULD BE STUPID, SERIOUSLY, WHO DOES THAT?
Er, Terry does that. He did it on Wednesday morning, after his shower, and that was the moment the Towel Wars reached their zenith.
The thing is, I try not to be the nagging the wife, I really do. I know he doesn’t do it deliberately, and it’s been pointed out to me (by Terry) (Who is wrong, by the way, but anyway…) that I am not without blame when it comes to neatness, and that although I like to think I’m super-tidy, there are definitely times when I’ll slip up, and Terry will discover my shoes in the hallway, or a collection of beauty products littering the bathroom, or whatever. ( I have never stacked towels in the wrong order, though. Because that’s just not right.)
Anyway, as I was saying, the discovery of big-towel-over-little-towel was the final straw in the Towel Wars, and I could’t help but raise my grievance with Terry, who glared at me mutinously as I ran through a short lesson on towel etiquette. He declined to stick around for the towel-folding demonstration I had planned (HIS LOSS), so I assumed that would have to wait for another day. I was playing a long game here, though: I could wait.
I didn’t have to, though. That night, I headed up to bed first, and when I opened the door, this was the sight that greeted me:
That, my friends, is a towel swan. Which Terry smugly re-folded a few more times, just to prove it hadn’t been a fluke.
“That showed YOU!” his attitude seemed to say, as he completed his swan, and propped it up next to the bed, where it would scare the life out of me later, on a moonlit trip to the bathroom. I figured that was the end of this particular round of Towel Wars, but it turned out Terry wasn’t done with me – or, indeed, our towels – yet. The next morning, I walked into the bedroom, and found myself faced with THIS:
It’s a crab. Made from a towel. Now, if you know me, you know I’m absolutely TERRIFIED of crabs (If you don’t know me, this post will give you some background…), so obviously Terry had stepped things up a notch. Luckily for him, not even I’m frightened of a towel (in fact, it’s actually pretty cute, no?), so this was one crab that didn’t give me nightmares. Thankfully.
Terry had saved the best for last, though, because not long after I’d unfolded the crab and, well, used him to dry my hair, I walked in on this little tableau:
(Eyes courtesy of Photoshop: well, I couldn’t leave the poor thing without any eyes, could I?)
If you’ve been reading this blog for a very, very long time, you might recognise the orange dude as my faithful companion, and occasional hell-raiser, Ted. Everyone say hi, Ted! If you’re a new reader, meanwhile, your attention probably went straight to the towel elephant he’s riding. Towel. Elephant. An elephant. Made of towels.
Well played, Terry: well played.
Next week, I think we’ll move onto Advanced Cushion Management…