Marrying Mr. Clean

I love my husband. I have yakked about him HERE.
And HERE.

He’s a wonderful husband, the kind who pitches in and does all sorts of chores around the house. He cooks. He cleans. He helps with the laundry. He’s Super Dad.

I’m very blessed.

But sometimes... sometimes…I sort of wish that he didn’t know a Downy ball from a softball.

Because I married Mr. Clean.

My husband has a love affair with Scotch Brite Sponges. He buys them in bulk for perpetual availability and stores them in a gallon sized baggie under my sink. This Scotch Brite affection is so legendary that he has actually received boxes of them for Christmas gifts. He was thrilled.

He has used his Scotch Brite sponges and Mr. Clean biceps to scrub my kitchen into oblivion. He scoured  the finish off a laminate counter... He dulled the shine on a glass cooktop... And I might be the only wife in America who had to replace Revere Ware cookery because her husband scrubbed off the handles.

I hoarded them.

When he is not scrubbing my pots and pans, he is scrubbing out baggies. He turns them inside out, attacks them with the Scotch Brite, and pitches little tents all around my kitchen sink...

...a little baggie Hooverville.

That particular mess doesn’t bother him one iota. After all, he's an outie... and an even bigger reuser than I am. I once returned home to discover a single piece of paper towel spread out on the counter, drying. Apparently, Mr. Clean had decided that it was a perfectly good piece of paper towel because, as he explained to me, he had merely used it to wipe up some water.

I introduced him to Mr. Dish Towel.

He became infatuated.

So much so that a kitchen clean-up is only complete when he flies the Hooverville flag from the oven door. Now, This wouldn’t bother me so much if all of my towels didn’t look just like that one.

I have tried to replace them with pretty, colorful towels, but I have finally surrendered.
You see, the man is also just a tad germaphobic and certifiably addicted to the bottle of Clorox. He believes that every load of towels requires a cup of the stuff.  I have tried to explain to him that most towels are used to dry clean things. Therefore, industrial strength disinfection seems like overkill. Nevertheless, he stays on perpetual bleach offensive.

So we play a little game.

I buy new towels.

And he turns them into this:

Or this:

Sigh... 

You might be wondering what set Little Debbie off on this ramble today...

Well, it’s this:
I discovered yesterday that Mr. Clean has won the current round of dish towel tag. I can not find one single dish towel fit for anything but the rag bag.

And so, I will venture into THAT place.
And I will purchase some new ones.
Again.

But while I’m there, I am going to pick up some Scotch Brite sponges. Because I also discovered that his sponge baggie is almost empty. And that is my gift for today. I might even wrap them.

Honestly and truly, Sponge Bob will be thrilled.