It's been one week since my last confession and while many weeks I come here and the confessions just roll out, this week's confession seems a little stuck, the paste of my mind-- what can I tell you that you don't already know? What can I confess to that a little devious? A little wild? Just a little interesting?
Dear Reader, that may be another week, I really am not sure what I have to confess, but there's always something, right?
To the confessional--
I confess sometimes I have no idea what to write on Confession Tuesday and today is one of those days.
It's not that I am perfect, I am nowhere close. In fact, if perfect were a place, it would be the center of Antarctica, not only ridiculously far away from me, but a place I will probably ever step foot on or even sail by.
Perfect is mirage of water on the hot roadway, even when you think you're there, you're never close. And in fact, I'd say that thinking that one is perfect, might mean you're further away than you think -- thus, a perfect person wouldn't think they were perfect...
Of course, by not thinking I'm perfect does not make me perfect. It makes me realistic. And honest.
Though I confess, there is a part of me that yearns for perfect. I think this due to my small obsession with "show towels."
You have probably never heard this term, but maybe you too have them. These are the towels I put out when guests come over or when we have a dinner party. They are the only towels in the entire house that look nice enough to wipe your hands on.
They actually look nice in the bathroom without some bizarre 70's floral pattern going on or my country red towels, carried with me from my first home-- how I love them for their stringiness and their ability not to care what others think about them.
No, these show towels are soft and yellow and they all match. If my bathroom was a museum, these would be the paintings you would first go to and love them for their luster.
I have (in a very non-perfect way) shouted at my family when I've seen these towels (our show towels) dragged across the floor to clean up an in-house exploding water balloon, I have seen them on the dog, being taken to the garage, "Hey! Those are our Show Towels! Use an ugly one."
I confess, sometimes I think "when I am Oprah-rich, all my towels will be show towels."
Oh, imagine. Such big dreams little poet...
I confess now that I think about it, I'm not sure how all our towels (with the exception of the do-not-touch show towels) became so ruined. I have a feeling we each use them on our bikes and pretend we don't.
I confess I use our towels when cleaning my mountain bike.
I confess I did not plan an entire post on towels.
Remember two weeks ago when I confessed about never having the urge to flip the bird in photos? If there is an occasion for someone to do it right, this is how to do it: Jim Belushi photobombing Chevy Chase... (Note: you must be famous and it must in the 1970's for this to work this well)--
And did I mention, Chevy Chase always have the best expressions...