“Where are the paper towels?” I asked. An innocent question, or so I thought.
“We don’t have any. And we’re not getting anymore,” was the curt reply.
The inflection in wife’s voice was sending the message that some sort of heinous act had caused a rift of global proportions between us and the paper towel industry. This is not good. I need my paper towels.
Dare I ask her what happened? Sure, I should (I answer my own questions quite often). I’m a man, aren’t I? I should have the guts to confront her about the prospect of facing life without the “quicker picker-uppers.”
So, I grabbed my cell phone, went out to the security of my truck and called her back inside.
“What’s up with the paper towel deal?” I whined.
“Get back in the house.” Click!
I had no idea such a simple item could be a topic of major discussion. Sure, I was worried about ongoing wars, terrorism and the economy, but this was even bigger. I could be facing a life without paper towels. I’m a third-belt slob and this would be like working the high wire without a net.
Walking back to the house, I could envision a scenario of what my new life would be like: A life of clandestine deals going down. I’d pull into a dark alley and some guy in a Humphrey Bogart-like trench coat and hat would be there waiting for me. Leaning against a brick wall, he’d take a final drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and ask “What took you so long? Got the cash?”
He’d pop open his trunk and transfer 10 bundles of two-ply super-absorbent Bounty into the back of my truck. I was doomed to a life of marital criminality.
Back to reality — inside the house, my wife waited. As accustomed as she is from years of trying to explain something to still brain-developing third- and fourth-graders, she knew I was even a bigger challenge. Taking her standard deep breath she started.
“Paper plates and paper towels are destroying our planet. Do you know how many trees are cut down to manufacture those things?”
I didn’t get past the second word. “Paper plates! You’re not going to buy paper plates, either?”
“You’ve got to think about future generations. What about your grandchildren?”
You see, she always uses the grandchildren when she needs a leverage point. She knows I’ll look like an idiot if I have a comeback or say something after that.
“Let them take care of themselves” (My compassion is never ending).
When I asked her what I was supposed to use in lieu of paper towels, I was told to use a cloth towel. She said she’d wash it — that was the new routine.
Apparently, this process, which involves the use of fresh water and soap from plastic containers (which come in cardboard — aka paper — boxes) is not as harmful. Or so I’m told.
Explaining how she knew that the overuse of paper was destroying our planet, she said she read it.
“It’s right there on page 318 of ‘Save the Earth.’ ”
She was right! In fact, there were articles on saving paper in every one of the eighteen weekly environmental magazines that she subscribes to.
I may not be as astute on environmental issues as she is, but I do know ... I’ll be sitting in the truck when she reads this column.
And that’s the way it looks from the Valley.
Tom Valley is a Medina resident who writes a weekly column every Thursday. He can be e-mailed at Tvalley@rochester.rr.com.
