If I could bring to life one inanimate object from around my house (like in Beauty and the Beast), it would be a roll of paper towels. I simply love the things.
To clarify, if I were caught up in the Beast’s curse, I wouldn’t want to BE the paper towels, just to be friends with them. If I had to be turned into a household item, it would be the coffee maker.
The coffee maker is the centerpiece of the morning and rarely goes neglected. It shows up at every party, but not until the end, when it comes in to gently notify the guests that it’s time to leave.
Paper towels, however, are always around when you need them. They’re dependable, up for any task, and never complain. You could do a lot worse than having a roll of paper towels for a friend.
I say it loud, I say it proud: I’m a fan of paper towels.
My only complaint is the glue that attaches the first and last sheets to a roll.
There is nothing enjoyable about using a paper towel encrusted with factory-grade glue, which is why I only use those sheets for things like wiping up a counter. They’ll never touch my face, that’s for sure.
Aside from the first and last sheets, paper towels seem sanitary enough with each new sheet rolling off from the rest in shiny white flashes of triumph.
There is no rational reason to think an absorbent roll that people reach for after encountering filth would actually be clean, but it makes a good presentation.
I buy into their bleached-white facade and use paper towels as a perfect plate for a sandwich on the go or a surprisingly juicy piece of fruit.
I’ve even been known to bundle a handful of just-washed grapes into a paper towel like a hobo setting off to ride the rails.
Napkins are great and have their place, but no serious person would compare their versatility to that of a paper towel.
A bathroom attendant who handed out napkins after people washed their hands would be laughed out of the business.
I like that paper towels have some grit to them. This ain’t the rag for cleaning your reading glasses, nerd; there’s a manliness to paper towels, especially the ones with lumberjacks on the packaging.
Yet their quiltedness also suggests a tenderness soft enough for dabbing a baby’s face when more suitable alternatives aren’t available.
Paper towels are the Hugh Jackman of paper goods: tough enough to be a superhero while also soft enough to be the tap-dancing romantic lead.
Sure, we save our dirtiest job for toilet paper, but toilet paper leads a shameful existence.
At the grocery store, I hide my toilet paper at the bottom of the cart embarrassed it might spark an unwanted conversation.
But paper towels? I strut through the aisles with the package on my shoulder like a 1980s boombox.
Even the dingy brown paper towels of public restrooms have their place. I appreciate their effort; they perform admirably in situations involving less than two tablespoons of water.
I understand that paper towels might not be the most environmentally sound choice, but neither is setting fire to my kitchen counters once a week, which is what I’d surely have to do without them.
It’s important to always wipe responsibly and not become too reliant on paper towels.
They should be reserved for situations where quick disposability s key.
What am I supposed to kill a stink bug with a dish towel and then just go on drying dishes with it? That’s absurd!
Disposability is, perhaps, paper towel’s best friend-like quality. While a paper towel is always around when you need it, it never hesitates to leave when it has served its purpose. You can’t ask for a better friend than that.
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