As I progress through my life, I am compiling my marital "lessons learned". I plan to share these with my sons are they mature and prepare to marry. To put it another way, I am writing down all the apparent inconsistencies women seem to have to hopefully spare my sons from traveling the same (sometimes painful) path I am on.
Now that I have ticked off most of the people who read this, let me outline the newest chapter in this collection.
To me, there are dishrags. In the pecking order of ragdom, dishrags are slightly above the shop rags and slightly below my beloved shower rags. So, I would never think to use a dish rag to clean my dog Spike's favorite source of fiber from my shoes, just as I would never be able to take a dish rag along for my morning body scrub.
Unfortunately, what I did not realize until recently is that there are different ranks within the dishrag family. These ranks, as with most ranks, come with privileges. And, a disregard of these ranks is a very serious act. Very serious. Permit me to elaborate.....
Our dishwasher recently went on the fritz. As we wait for the parts to arrive, we have been old schooling it. Fill the sink with hot water, add some Palmolive, and scrub. Being the gentleman I am, I often "volunteer" for the dish washing duties. Mrs. WHW usually corrals the youngest kids up stairs for baths and bed.
So, each night I pull a new dishrag from the rag drawer, taking whichever one is on top next. I give no thought to the type of foods prepared for supper nor the condition of any of the dishes. We have a sink and a garbage disposal. What is there to worry about?
A couple of evenings ago I learned there is a lot to worry about. For supper, we had tacos and beans (a big favorite). The taco meat was prepared in a skillet. After supper I noticed a lot of cooked on pieces of hamburger with taco seasoning on the skillet. No biggie, I thought. I filled the sink with water and soap. Pulled the next rag from the drawer. Dropped the skillet into the sink. Let the skillet set for a few minutes. Then, I began cleaning it with the rag.
As I began cleaning the skillet Mrs. WHW came downstairs to collect some books for a little reading time with the kids. As she walked past me, I assumed I would get a passionate thank you, a wink, and more appreciation later. Ok....I actually hoped she would notice my efforts and smile at me. To my surprise I was given a blood curdling scream and a "What Are You Doing???"
I then learned that the rag I was using "used to be" one of the nice rags. Ones seldomly used on anything. Their primary purpose is to sit out after the dishes were cleaned, in case a guest would show up. Upon expressing my thoughts on the "good rag" concept, I was told to only use the rags in the second drawer. And to not use any of the good towels either.
I admit, the rag was getting a bit nasty from the stuff on the skillet. But, to me, anything called a rag should be available for this kind of work. Heck, the word rag just sounds dirty. Those nice rags should be given a different name. They aren't rags.....they are decoration.
Anyway, looks like I inadvertently added a new soldier to the regular rag ranks. And, at the same time, proven my lack of understanding of the "nice things".
Wonder if I should show her the hand towel from the bathroom I used to clean mud off of my hands yesterday. Since the towel had a nice shell on it, I'm guessing I shouldn't.
I hope Clorox doesn't ruin it.
Remember when this blog used to be your go-to source for juvenile stories focusing on bathroom experiences, weird personal encounters, and a...
Some soothing CB as we near Christmas.
To all my friends, both near and far, Merry Christmas!!
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