Two Idiots and a Towel

My husband and I have a very specific way we fold towels. I say “very specific” like it’s complicated. It is not. But there is a way we fold them, and we have both been doing it that way for years.

This is not a new system. Nobody recently reorganized the linen closet. Nobody announced that towel operations would be changing moving forward. We know how to fold the towels.

Or at least I thought we did.

The other day, my husband is folding towels when he stops and says, “I can’t remember how we fold these.”

Sir.

What do you mean you can’t remember? They are towels. We fold them all the time. There are only so many things you can do to a rectangle before it becomes a smaller rectangle.

So I look at him and say, “Are you stupid?”

Lovingly, obviously.

Then I take the towel from him so I can show him how we fold it. Except the second I have it in my hands, my brain also stops loading.

I don’t remember.

I’m standing there holding the towel, trying to figure out which direction it goes first.

How the fuck do we fold the towels?

He looks at me. I look at him.

Well.

Apparently we are both stupid.

I would like it noted that approximately eight seconds earlier, I was extremely confident that I was the intellectually superior person in this situation.

Apparently, my husband and I are sharing a brain cell now.

Unfortunately, neither of us had it.