I did not grow up in a home that valued paper towels, television or brand names. In spite of the merits of my upbringing, there were some drawbacks. I never learned how to clean quickly. Only well. In fact, I have been known to get down on my hands and knees to clean the floor (the only way it should be cleaned) and eschew the toilet brush (because that’s gross. Let’s be honest here.) And never, in a million years, would I touch the paper towel.
When I moved into my present abode, I just noticed them there on the counter. When a roll was done, it just got replaced. When the whole package was finished, a new one was purchased. How did this take place? (Hint: Shopper’s Drug Mart sells everything now). Initially, I was fearful. Would the paper towel convert me to its wasteful ways? In spite of my fear, I reached out to its warm embrace. I tentatively began using them for big jobs, like washing lettuce. After all, paper towels are composted by the city – even the private company they contracted manages to do this somehow. Even though they pick up garbage at highly irregular times and leave mess behind. Tea towels, my default for such a job, must be washed by me, and I wasn’t about to buy a salad spinner. So, that was an easy contest. Then I began using paper towels for other things. Like mopping up spills when the dishcloth got too gross (see previous comment for further information about my hatred of laundry). Then, this morning, I reached out to the paper towel and began cleaning with it. Even though I knew that real cleaning that should be done with a rag, in this moment, I realized that my conversion was complete.
Excuse me while I practice my newfound faith. I have a ziploc bag to throw out.