You're Not at Your Bachelor Pad

I work with over 260 people, of which, over 95% are women. My job is open around the clock and every day of the year.  There are about 40 people per shift. The majority of us like to eat often and eat well. On average, we have at least one potluck a month. Only for important things like holidays, retirements, National Left Hander's Day, a full moon...you get the point. We have some really talented cooks and bakers on our shift. I don't happen to be one of them. I'm 38 and only started cooking about three years ago, but that's another story. For the Fourth of July, I signed up to bring peanut butter cookies for two reasons: 1) I had made them before and lived and 2) they are gluten free and if I could eat nothing else from the potluck, at least I'd have my cookies. Sure, there are alot of main dishes that are gluten free that I could have made, but would require other people to be subjected to my cooking. I have to work with these people, I didn't want to be reminded every time there was a potluck about the food poisoning/burnt food/what the hell was that suppose to be unsavory dish I contributed last time. Hey, so many women in one small space-we get katty competitive.

I had been dating The Accountant for about a month in a half at that point and one of the many things I liked about him was that he like to do things with me. It didn't matter what it was, he was happy as long as we were doing it together and between the two of us, we always found something to laugh about.

The Accountant came over after work to help bake cookies. We got everything we needed from the pantry and started combining the items while we preheated the oven. We were having fun talking about our day and working side by side. I say side by side because the actual work space in my kitchen was very limited. It was difficult enough to fit one person in there but to fit two people in there was even more of challenge and the heat from the oven made the situation even more difficult. Add to this, the July heat in Arizona and we may as well have been baking the cookie dough on the sidewalk.

After making those nifty fork marks in the cookie dough, we placed both trays of cookies on the racks in the oven. I was setting the timer on the microwave and The Accountant was at the sink. He asked me a question and I turned his way to answer him and stopped abruptly. My mouth dropped open and my eyes bulged out of my head. I couldn't believe it! He was wiping his sweaty brow with my dish towel! 'What?' he asked. 'What are you doing?' I asked him in disbelief. 'What? I was sweating,' he said, looking at the yellow dish towel in his hand, 'is this not okay?' Um-no. I grew up in a household where you washed your hands before dinner-in the bathroom. If you had something on your face or clothing that shouldn't be there,you took care of it- in the bathroom. In recent years, I'd acquired several different hand towels, none of which I had ever used to do more than dry my hands on after they were clean. 'No, it's not okay, in fact, it's really gross!'. My mind flashed back to a conversation he and I had once had on the telephone. He was talking about living on his own and how when he left his ex-wife, he only left with necessities. For the past three years, he'd been working on buying household supplies as he needed them. He'd mentioned in passing that often times he would come home from the gym, eat dinner, and then use his sweat towel from the gym to wipe down the counters while cleaning up the kitchen. I'd laughed about it at the time because I thought he was joking! Standing there that night in the hot kitchen, looking at the yellow hand towel and then at the look of bewilderment on The Accountant's face, I realized he wasn't joking. I shook my head and said 'No, it's not okay, in fact, it's really gross.' 'What am I suppose to use?' he asked. It seemed like a no-brainer. 'How about a paper towel?' I asked. 'But that's wasteful.' I shewed him away with my hand, 'Go put the towel in the laundry room please. There are plenty of CLEAN ones where that came from.' He did as I asked and then returned, looking a tad embarrassed. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'are you grossed out now? Am I untouchable now?' I shook my head and started laughing. I figure, if you're going to laugh about it someday, you may as well start as soon as you can. I gave him a hug and whispered in his ear 'Don't ever do that again. Promise me that even when I'm not here, you will find another way.' He laughed as he opened the oven to take the first batch of cookies out. 'I promise.' he said leaning over to remove the cookie sheets. I think I heard him mutter the word germophobe under his breath. The following day, I washed the rest of the hand towels that I had hanging on the towel rack in my kitchen and threw in the bath towels for good measure as I didn't know what other "habits" he had that I didn't know about.

Training the Bachelor's Tip #1: Dish towels are for drying dishes and hands while in the kitchen.

Training the Bachelor Tip #2: These are to be used for everything else.

As time went on, we got to know each other better. Not the "I'm on my best behavior and not going to show you the real me just yet" behavior, but the day to day getting to know each other, I came to realize he's even more particular about things than I am. Especially with The Boy. Here are just a few of the things he finds appalling: dirty socks on the living room floor. Talking with food in your mouth. Having a fork full of food shoved in your face and being told to 'try this'. Anytime the food on his plate is touched by anyone other than himself. Walking around the house in nothing but your underwear (The Boy, not me). I'm the germophobe? Takes one to know one, Accountant Man!

This happened almost a year ago, and the "hand towel incident" comes up in conversation from time to time. It's as funny to us today as it was a year ago. I'm glad I chose to laugh at it this social faux paus. It builds character and memories.