So I was helping out in the church kitchen this morning, like you do, (you mean you don't?) and the woman washing the dishes asked if I would dry. "Alrighty then!" I said cheerfully. (A cheerful demeanor is necessary when you're helping out at church. It's the law.)
I went over to the drawer to grab a towel, and recoiled in horror, because it was one of those weird microfiber nightmares that stick to your fingers. (EEeeeeewwwww I can feel it as I type those words.) I said something like, "Oh my GOD I can't stand those things. I can't even touch it!" (and when you're helping out at church, you actually try not to say 'Oh my GOD.' It's sort of frowned upon.)
The woman looked at me strangely and proceeded to wash the dishes. "Try that drawer," she said helpfully. And a little apprehensively.
I opened the next drawer down, pulled out another one, and was AGAIN GREETED BY THE HORROR THAT IS THOSE AWFUL TOWELS. I dropped it like a flaming bible and said, "Are there NO towels in this kitchen that I can touch?" and proceeded to rummage through the drawers, exclaiming to myself in disgust every time I touched another one.
"AHA! I found a normal towel!" I held up my trophy in triumph and, looking up, saw that the woman washing dishes had stopped what she was doing and was staring at me agape, as were three other people who happened to walk in at that very moment. "Cotton," I said confidently. "It's the fabric of our lives."
Little do they know that the joke's on them: I'm just doing my best to avoid being asked to help in the church kitchen anymore. I'll just let them think I have some sensory overload disorder and I'll never have to host coffee hour again.
But ugghh. Those towels. *shudder*