Laundry and Petty theft

Here I sit on a Sunday, the Lord's day of rest doing laundry when I realize something. My fine linens don't match. You might call it petty theft but I call it memories. Yes, children Momma's towels are souvenirs from vacations gone past. I say if you paid $175 for the room you are entitled to at least one towel as a keepsake of your time spent at Atlantic City? Do you really think Caesar's Palace is missing that Celine Dion hand towel? I don't think those poor over worked and under paid house keepers noticed, and the memory puts a warm spot in my cold-as-ice heart. Listen, I'm not one of those crazies with a china hutch full of Precious Moments dolls or a Conway Twitty Memorial Plate set. I just sold my international spoons of the world collection at a swap meet three years ago. I just enjoy the occasional fine turkish towel. I don't take the robes because it's clearly marked they will charge you for them, but the towels are never mentioned in any fine print. Maybe one day I will launder them and return them to their rightful owners. But for now, I thought I'd share that nugget with you. Wipe that scowl off your face, it's not like I took the sheets. One time in Daytona City Beach cousin Earline took the sheets- yes the damn sheets- right off the bed and packed them up in her Samsonite luggage. Of course this is the same woman who says you can worm your kids. Naturally it's best to de-worm your family in a hotel where the sheets don't belong to you. But then she went and took them with her. Maybe she didn't worm that night? Maybe Earline is crazy as hell? Maybe I am but we aren't blood related. She married in as we say....well it's time for me to don my best puff paint and bejeweled Christmas jump suit and hit the mall. I even have my baby Jesus in the manger ear rings to go along with the nativity scene on the back of my jacket. It is a fetching number and people always ask me where I got it (usually in a scared or offended tune) but who are they to judge fashion? Only a few more days until Santa comes and all these little bastards ask if I got a gift receipt.