Heading to the gym’s noon time spin class, I let out a frustrated grunt (a very manly type grunt). I had forgotten my towel. Now, this could either be a convenient excuse to skip exercising, because the world does not need another stinky sweat drenched man, or just be stinky and sweat drenched for the rest of the day, but as previously mentioned the world does not need that. Then I heard the voice of my wife in my head, “Why don’t you rent a towel?” (a suggestion she had made before, in person and not just in my head, so hearing her say this in my head really is not that odd after all). Yes! Charlene’s voice was right, I could easily rent a towel and go on about my day.
Not knowing the cost of a towel rental, I scrounged around the car counsel and found a dollar in change. Approaching the check-in counter, I sheepishly asked if I could rent a towel. The man jokingly said, “No,” but since I was so unsure of myself at that point, I just sort of stared at him. He stared back, waiting for me to laugh. It was a pitiful “not getting it” showdown. I eventually gave up and flashed a nervous grin, which broke the stalemate and allowed for this sad segment of my day to continue (most scholars agree that this was also what brought an end to the Cold War).
Asking how much for the towel rental, he responded “50 cents.” Ah, must be my lucky day. Only half of my change was needed. Finishing up my spin class, I showered off and began to dry off with my rental towel. Unfurling the drying cloth, I soon discovered why it was only 50 cents. That was no normal size towel, but rather sort of an aspiring towel. Graduated from hand towel status, the rented towel would still need to grow a few feet to be considered a real bath towel. Where do they sell these? The “Half Sized Towel Store?”
Trying my best to avoid remaining wet all over, I realized why my wife’s voice in my head had suggested this alternative. She is about 2/3rd my weight and this towel was about 2/3rd its proper size. Perhaps I had been given a woman’s size towel in jest. Ugh, serves me right. Always laugh at the front desk’s joke.
Regretting having dried my hair first (that could have certainly dried off later on its own), I slipped on my clothes over my still damp body. Next time, I would be wise. Remember my towel. Then if I happen to forget it, spend my extra 50 cents on a second towel, because the world doesn’t need another damp guy walking around with some spare change.