What is it with me and towels?
My mother didn't teach me to hang onto every one until it was frayed in the center. When she had two nickels to rub together she'd buy new ones.
I rolled the collected change a few months ago.
Today I went to K-Mart and bought a half dozen fluffy new white Martha Stewart towels and bath cloths for the guest bathroom. (I used to call them wash rags. Maybe that's the tell.) I like Martha Stewart's towels. They're as good or better than the ones I bought at McCrae's a few years ago.
They replace the motley array of crap that dated from as far back as when Michael was a teenager.
They can be bleached and they can be easily replaced. Young mothers do not know that even good kids will be taking your dinner glasses, your towels, perhaps your cooking equipment as they leave home.
Some years ago I talked to another father who described helping a child pack for college. He noticed that the kid had packed his favorite cast-iron skillet.
"Wait a damn minute. Who said you could take that?"
"You said you'd give me everything I need."