See this towel? I just bought it today. It ain't been touched by any hands 'cept mine.
Well, maybe somebody touched it in the store first, but since I didn't see and it didn't leave no mark, it don't matter...
Start examining edges.
It's perfect. I never buy those "seconds" with their funny lines down the middle and the frayed bottoms. They don't last as long.
What kind of towels do you buy?
I buy one hunnert per cent hick cotton Cannon towels made for J.C. Penney. The thirsty ones.
You really understand your towels.
Men never did understand towels. And that's because they treat their towels just like they treat their women. Here's this beautiful towel which I'll put carefully onta my towel rack. And I'll be real sure that my hands are washed clean when I use it, so's all that gets on it is water.
But a man'll come in from working on some greasy car for three hours and he'll...he'll.
Can't even say the words.
...he'll take those greasy, filthy hands and put them onto that clean, pure towel...and...and that towel will never be the same! No matter how I wash that towel with soap, the dirt gets right down into the fibers.
And if I bleach that towel, all the newness comes right out with the grease!
And once that towel is besmirched, I dunno, it's downhill from there. But even though that towel isn't pure no more, it lasts and lasts, and that man puts more and more greasy dirt onto it, and I bleach more n' more of the life outa it.
But just like that woman, it keeps doing what it has to do. Not complainin', just sittin' there.
Goes back to being sad.
Until one day, there's a hole in it. Not a big one, mind ya, but it's there. When you point it out to them, they just say,
Act as man.
"So what--lotsa good use in it."
Return to self.
But you can't put it out fer company no more. Naw, it gets put to the back of the closet, to be used for wipin' babies and cleanin' up after the dog.
The most dramatic scene.
And then one day,
you go to get the towel to wipe up some jam that spilled onta the carpet, and...it's gone.
You can't find it nowhere. You take all the other towels out, but there ain't hide nor hair on it.
To find the towel.
So you ask him,
"Honey, did you see that towel, the one with the pretty yeller flowers on it?" And he says,
"You mean that old faded thing with the holes in it?"
The most awful part.
And that's when you know the truth. You go out to the garage, and there ya see it, hanging' on a nail, just like Jesus.
That's so sad.
And it's just not mildly stained anymore, it's covered with disgusting marks that you don't even want to know what the origins were.
Audiences sad faces.
And you look at that poor, faithful towel, and it's enough to make your heart just bleed!
*Gets over it and gets very quiet."
And so you go inside yto your husband's desk, and you take this thirty-eight, and you shoot him right through the heart.
Let this sink in. Return to cheerfulness.
And then you wait for the police to come and get you.
Goes back to hanging towels. Hears a voice. Listens.
I'll be there in just a minute, Officer Williams. I just have one more thing to hang out...