Letting Go Is Never Easy

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This old gal…

Has a rag box…a coveted rag box…the collection unique…priceless…took years to acquire…scrubbing rags…big but not too big…thin…pliable…perfect fit for these old hands…easily maneuvered into filthy cracks and crevices…

Drying rags…the wipe downers after the wet scrub…not too thin…but not too thick…moisture wicking and free of lint…polish those fixtures til they shine rags…and so it was…kitchen gunk cleaning day upon us…cleaning me opened that drawer to see that rag box…that coveted rag box…looking at her…half empty…

Rewind a day or two…coming home from physical therapy…sparkly clean floors…lovely smell of pine…a later trip to take out trash…a knotted plastic grocery bag at the bottom of the receptacle…and she knew…she just knew…

Tsk tsk you say…a rag’s a rag…you can buy more at Menards…au contraire…my dears…not these rags…not the Fingerhut handtowels from 1985…or the tattered Pizza Haus cloths from 20 years ago…too thin for pizza dishes…but perfect…for picky me…

Further inquiry…revealed…those poor rags…in their cleaning buddy’s absence…were deemed nasty…gross…and were sent…to that rag box…in the sky…

Adios…my good friends…your cleaning days are over…and maybe…just maybe…mine…should be too…
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And gunk scraping me…would probably…not agree…