Paper Towels: A Love Story
Any given Sunday morning: Lounging in bed with my coffee and computer – both brought to me by my manservant, I hear the dog whine softly. I hear dog yelp loudly. I know that dog has whizzed in her crate. Deciding it’s time to actually leave the cocoon (manservant doesn’t do the dog-thing unless under duress. It’s like the diaper-thing: “No! You won’t have to change the diapers” until you do) I head for the pee zone.
Getting the dog out of crate, not really later than usual, she just doesn’t
like to hear happy voices that don’t include a copious amount of praise and petting for her (and, really, who can blame her), I bring eight to ten paper towels to wipe off her pee-paws and wipe up the pee puddle she left in the crate. I use another four to six to swipe Just Try To Get The Urine Smell Out pet cleaner in and around the crate and floor (pee jettisoned from the patented “Pug shake” and where the initial pee-paws had fallen as she left the crate). Then I take her out to encourage any remaining elimination needs to occur there.
Once back inside, I jump to refill the coffee mugs, spilling some from both in an effort to get back to the cocoon too quickly. With a paper towel to wipe up the floor, another to wipe up the counter, I suddenly decide to expand my beverage consumption and pour V-8 overenthusiastically into a glass filled with ice. Attempting to stir it up with freshly washed celery stalk, I need more paper towels to meet the floor, the counter, and around the sink.
In the span of seven minutes, I used ¼ roll of paper towels, almost lost the rest of the V-8 because I had a wad of paper towels stuck in the same hand I used to put the bottle back into the fridge; then somehow was able to go up two flights of stairs with nary another mishap. What could have turned into a series of unfortunate events was instead easily managed, thanks, in no small part due to the ubiquitous, disposable, unsung utility of paper towels.
On this quiet Sunday morning, paper towels seem like one of man’s greatest inventions.
Getting the dog out of crate, not really later than usual, she just doesn’t
like to hear happy voices that don’t include a copious amount of praise and petting for her (and, really, who can blame her), I bring eight to ten paper towels to wipe off her pee-paws and wipe up the pee puddle she left in the crate. I use another four to six to swipe Just Try To Get The Urine Smell Out pet cleaner in and around the crate and floor (pee jettisoned from the patented “Pug shake” and where the initial pee-paws had fallen as she left the crate). Then I take her out to encourage any remaining elimination needs to occur there.Once back inside, I jump to refill the coffee mugs, spilling some from both in an effort to get back to the cocoon too quickly. With a paper towel to wipe up the floor, another to wipe up the counter, I suddenly decide to expand my beverage consumption and pour V-8 overenthusiastically into a glass filled with ice. Attempting to stir it up with freshly washed celery stalk, I need more paper towels to meet the floor, the counter, and around the sink.
In the span of seven minutes, I used ¼ roll of paper towels, almost lost the rest of the V-8 because I had a wad of paper towels stuck in the same hand I used to put the bottle back into the fridge; then somehow was able to go up two flights of stairs with nary another mishap. What could have turned into a series of unfortunate events was instead easily managed, thanks, in no small part due to the ubiquitous, disposable, unsung utility of paper towels.
On this quiet Sunday morning, paper towels seem like one of man’s greatest inventions.
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