The Dishtowel dilemma

Hopefully Jill (posing on the left - on the right is Steph) isn't upset about the posting of this pic. She just finally saw the pictures of the wedding taken by the disposable cameras at the tables, and happened to notice her boob. I for one did not notice her boob, but i guess when they're your own, it's one of the first things you glance at when wearing a lower cut dress to check that there's no nipple show. Now there is no nipple show, but alas, still alotta boob!

These are the 2 loverly ladies that came early to the wedding to help set up the tables and games for us. And they apparently enjoy their alcohol better than posing for pictures!! During the pictures-between-ceremony-and-reception extravaganza, we were attempting to take pics with all the grooms fam, all the brides fam and then last but certainly not least, pics with all the friends. These pictures turned out really well, and I'm surprised that Bob the photographer was able to get everyone in (especially with the entire guest list pic). But.. right after the friends pic was taken and Bob says "Alright! All the guests are free to drink, and the wedding party needs to take some formal pics upstairs!" i turn to my left, and there's Jill and Steph, sitting at the bar, with blue lagoons. I'm like "What are you guys doing!? You weren't in the friends picture?!" Apparently they didn't realize there was a friends picture, and opted for the alcohol instead. I'll just have to superimpose them in there, since there's a nice space just for them!

So we had a good visit today. While the other ladies had the energy and forethought to make their contributions ahead of time, I apparently was lazy and too concerned with having a heart attack* to make a meal to feed them, so i stopped at Longos instead and purchased the meal. I am honest enough about the laziness to admit that, no, i didn't make the fancy chicken, although i was tempted!

*apparently I'm having anxiety issues. And it's one nasty endless circle of crap, because the more i worry, the more i hurt and the more i hurt, the more i worry. So where does it all end!? But don't worry Mom, I'm fine!!! No need to call 3 times in a row 2 minutes apart each time.

Which reminds me. Titanic. Movie came out when i was in university. So we decided to go see it. Yes, it was a long movie. Yes, we were out of the dorm for a total of 5 hours when you include travel time and eating gross burger king. Yes, living in Sudbury and going to school, i didn't think to call my mom to let her know i was going to be out for a while. So when i returned home, there were several messages on the answering machine. The first one, nice and sweet with no hint of panic. "Hi Pumpkin! Just thought I'd call and say hi and see how you were doing. Love you!" Second message, left 34 minutes later, still with no detectable hint of panic. "Hi Kathryn! Just mom again, wondering where you are. Love you!" Third message, pitch of the voice slightly higher than previous messages, left 28 minutes after second message. "Kathryn it's mom! Call me back!" Forth message, pitch of voice so high that deciphering message getting increasingly difficult, left 16 minutes after the third call. "Kathryn where are you!? Call me!" Fifth message, only dogs and daughters of worrywart mothers can make out the words, left 8 minutes after the forth call "Kathryn! Okay, i know you're probably out, but you need to call me as soon as you get back!! Did you go to your uncle Phil's apartment!? I'm having visions of you stuck in his apartment surrounded with flames! It's on fire and they can't get you out!" Since i had returned home almost 2 whole hours after the last message was left, i knew my Dad had intervened and wouldn't let her call again. While I'm a bit of a worrier myself (No thanks to my mom) I could completely understand how much she was panicking in those few hours, but c'mon. I had talked to her the day before, and i went to the movies. Good thing i didn't have a cell phone, because if i didn't answer that since i would have turned it off during the movie, she probably would have driven 5 hours to search the streets screaming for her daughter.



This is me ma'am! Posing with Bateman, so it's hilarious. Just thought all should see where i get my worry-condition from.




And these i thought were hilarious! Bob the photographer took a pic of me and my sis taking a self portrait of ourselves at the exact same time. Love it!

Okay, picture time is over. Now on to the title of this blog. Yes, there is a very big dishtowel dilemma, which was brought up today over my brunch with the ladies. Now, Rob is very clean. He cleans the kitchen while he cooks, he's very tidy, it's all good. But i guess I'm a bit of a.. germ-a-phobe?! (and I'm guessing this is another trait I've inherited from my mother!) I have a huge problem with the uses of the dishtowel. You use them to dry dishes. Once you've dried a counter with it, you can no longer use it on dishes. And once you've used it on the floor, it gets put for the wash, far far away from any wet dish needing a little dry. Makes perfect sense to me! And when you wash them, do they get put with ANY other type of material? Not one damn chance! But i think this should have all been put down in a neat little contract for the hubby to read, UNDERSTAND, and sign before getting married...

Because one day whilst i was drying dishes, i noticed that one swipe of the dishtowel in the black plastic bowl left hundreds of whitish orange cat hairs neatly swirled on the inside. Had i not been immediately disgusted, i may have even taken a picture because it was quite a cool effect. But already having dried a whole load of white dishes with this said dishtowel and thinking of how much cat hair were on those and now having to pull them all back out of the cupboards and rewash them, was really *not* cool. (Therefore totally overshadowing the previous "coolness" factor of the swirly cat hair design) So i immediately threw the dishtowel to the side, pulled out another one from the drawer, and the exact same thing happened. And then it happened again. And, yes, AGAIN. I pulled out all the dishtowels to inspect them when Rob walks in the kitchen and wonders what the crap I'm doing. I mention to him that all our dishtowels are flipping filthy and he replies "But that's impossible, i just washed them all with a load of towels!" I gasp at the thought that something we use to wipe off body parts (as clean as they may be at that moment) was gallivanting around in the washing machine and dryer with something else i use to wipe something we eat off of. I tell him, as nice as possible, to NEVER wash the dishtowels with towels, because the towels are sometimes on the floor, or laying on the bed, or just generally where the cat sits his dirty ass on. So i *thought* all was well, because never again did i see cat-hair-arama dishtowels.

Until one day, as I'm in the kitchen, i see Rob pass by me with his nicely folded laundry from the basement, and as he walks by, he sets down 4 nicely folded dishtowels that were on the top of the pile. So i enquire. "You washed 4 dishtowels on their own? Usually i wait until i have almost a full load" To which he replied "oh, i just threw them in with my clothes" So yes, now we don't get as *much* cat hair on the dishtowels, but now i have pube hairs on them. And the thought that these dishtowels got a chance to infuse with Rob's work sock smell almost made me vomit. So that day he was officially banned from washing the dishtowels. Although he likes to freak me out every once in a while with saying things like "Oh y'know how the dog puked all over his blankets this morning? I threw them in the wash, and i saw a few dishtowels there so i put them in too" And he wonders why i think I'm having a heart attack.

But the absolute best is when i catch him doing things that he apparently doesn't even realize he's doing. Like after thanksgiving dinner a couple years back when we were washing and drying dishes together. He has the dishtowel, i ask for the dishtowel, he wipes his bare feet with them since he happened to step in a small puddle, and proceeds to hand it to me. He didn't even realize what he did until he saw the horrid expression on my face. He couldn't stop laughing, even while i was attempting to ask through gasps of horror if he does that often.

Ah yes, dishtowels. My love/hate relationship with them needs a tweak. I guess if i was the only one that ever touched them, I'd be okay with it... OOOOO! His and hers dishtowels. PERFECT! But of course, with typical man like qualities of failing to notice the difference between things, they'd probably use the woman's one anyways. Well, either by accident, or with a husband like mine, on purpose to spite me. Like how he threatens to stick his balls in my juice because i don't want him drinking mine.

Alright, off for another day. Tomorrow will be a post about the past! Not too much in the past, just the past as in working at Michaels with TARA!! 'Cause damn, we had so much fun and now that i know she has a blog and i have a blog and we're both stalking each others blog, she'll understand what I'm blogging about!

Ya okay, I'm really tired. That last sentence made me laugh way too much.