This morning I threw away an ex-boyfriend's tea towel. I have been wanting to throw away this towel for about 5 years. I hadn't done it before because it was "useful." There was literally nothing wrong with it. It wiped, it absorbed, the little loop on which it could be hung up was still intact. The colours (sort of sorbet-y rainbow) were all right. Pleasant, even. But the other night as I mopped up the floor (we had a slight deluge on the terrace), I saw it again and I thought, "That's it. I'm doing it." And today I did.
It was after the girls had gone to school, before I went to the office. I had washed and dried it after the flood so I snatched it off the dryer, took down into the kitchen and shoved it deep into the poubelle. Conveniently the girls had had eggs for breakfast, so I buried it under eggshells and a bacon-grease paper towel.
Now I will never have to open the towel-drawer again and see it there, half-hidden, among the other lovelier ones (from Habitat, I must confess). Never again will I have to debate with myself, à la angel vs devil, "Loathe it."/"It's useful."/"I hate it."/"It works!"
Ah, but to purge is bliss....