Humor

---

Mom was yelling something about the washcloths being worn out, wimpy. In her Vietglish (a mixture of English and Vietnamese) she cried, "Why my towel so skinny? Why my towel skinny?"
I've got to go see what she's yelling about now, my ten-year-old mind thought. She was holding a washcloth and peering through the tiny holes. The cloth had no reason to live, no loops, and not thickness. "These a new! Why so skinny?" she asked again as she headed down the hall in search of her children, I'm sure.
We peered out from under the bed and denied any knowledge or responsibility for the towels. She walked away, still muttering about her "skinny" washcloths.
This begin the silent "Mystery of the Wimpy Washcloths". Although my sisters and I never spoke a word to each other, secretly we were all on the quest of solving the case of the cloths wih no loops and no absorbency.
One afternoon I heard a voice coming from the bathroom and noticed that the door was ajar. Peeking through the small opening allowed me to catch the villain in action!
There stood my little brother with Dad's disposable razor in hand. Shaving cream exploded everywhere and washcloths neatly lined the edge of the bathtub. A squirt of shaving cream on to one towel, a squirt on his face, a squirt on the next towel, a squirt on his face...This cycle continued until all washcloths and facial skin were covered. Then as smoothly as a youngster could, he meticulously shaved each towel. Then I watched as he patiently flipped each towel over, repeated the process, and smiled at his accomplishment.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE