It’s the week of Thanksgiving, a week I LOVE, because 1) it is short and 2) it’s all about eating. Sure, it’s also about some holiday stress, and trekking from place to place, and trying NOT to eat constantly. But these are small things in a time all about being thankful. And I am.
In other news, my husband and I are having a serious domestic dispute. It’s been ongoing, actually, and concerns….dishtowels. Yes, you read that right. Here’s the deal: I believe in using them—cloth towels, in the kitchen, to wipe up spills and dry hands—and he is convinced that they are a health hazard, because he claims they get mildewy, like, instantly. He is all about walking through the kitchen, stopping in his tracks, and wrinkling his nose. “You can’t SMELL that?” he asks, and when I say no, he decides I must LIKE the smell of mildew, as there could be no other explanation. So the dishtowel goes into the laundry to be Cloroxed, and I pull out another one. In short time, it, too, is a toxic threat. And on and on.
It’s not like we don’t use paper towels too. We do. But I feel like they are so WASTEFUL, especially when you can use a dishtowel over and over again. On the flip side, though, I don’t want to be wiping my hands with a bunch of mold. I know that lots of people DO use dishtowels, without these problems. And because we have them—problems—I told my husband I would take this issue to you, the people, today and see what you had to say. I think we are both hoping you will say we are right, and the other is wrong. But no pressure, or anything.
Finally, also on the domestic front, I’ve written here about my squirrel problems. A couple of weeks ago, after being fed up with them taking over our garbage can, I called in an expert. Critter Control arrived, trapped six of the worst of the big, fat violators (“Those squirrels are HUGE!” he said, confirming my hunch) and “relocated” them. Which was great. No more squirrels. Then last night, I went out to toss some trash. I heard some banging in the trashcan and, to be safe, threw a can at it to rouse whoever was in there rummanging around. And boy, am I glad I did, because a RACCOON jumped out at me. Holy crap. I almost passed out and screamed like a little girl.
Okay, I know I live in the country. I deal with mice, and fat, angry squirrels. But I can’t abide a raccoon leaping out at me. I just can’t. So we’re off to buy a big, mean metal trashcan. And, depending on what YOU say, maybe some new dishtowels. Or not! No pressure, as I said.