Dear Queenie,
I have a serious domestic issue. My partner refuses to use the “good towels.” We have two categories: everyday towels and the good towels. The good towels are fluffy. Untouched. Properly folded. Reserved for guests, hurricanes, or what I assume is the Second Coming. He insists towels are for drying, not admiring. Every time he showers, he grabs a good towel like he is storming Normandy. No hesitation. No reverence. I have explained the system. He claims there is no system. We have now had three separate conversations about towel hierarchy. Am I unreasonable for wanting standards? Or have I built a linen dictatorship? —Guardian of the Good Towels
Dear Guardian of the Good Towels,
You do not have “good towels.” You have decorative fabric with a superiority complex. Let me say this gently: if the towels are never meant to be used, they are not towels. They are museum exhibits. Your partner is correct in one radical belief, towels exist to dry wet humans. Not to wait for dignitaries who may never arrive. I understand the instinct. We all have that one set of items we mentally label “special.” The good plates. The untouched candles. The fancy soap that no one is allowed to lather. But here is the uncomfortable question: what are you saving them for? Sint Maarten has already survived hurricanes, power cuts, and price increases. If a fluffy towel cannot survive Tuesday night shower duty, what exactly is its purpose? Now, that said, systems matter. Households run on small agreements. If the “good towels” bring you joy when they remain pristine, that is not insanity. It is preference. Just don’t weaponize it. Perhaps the solution is simple: Rotate them. Let the good towels live a little. Allow them to fulfill their destiny. Fabric was woven to serve. You have not built a dictatorship. But you may have appointed yourself Minister of Linen Preservation. Loosen the grip. Life is short. Use the fluffy towel. —Queenie
