Paper towels

Paper towels are made of paper. As the name suggests. Or rather states in a blatant, in-your-face way. So why not call them simply "towels"? I guess to distinguish them from those cotton things we use to dry ourselves with. Though we sometimes do so with paper towels.

What do I use paper towels for? To wipe up spills. To wipe up cat poop – at least, when there are no sanitary wipes in the house. (Aren't those things great?). To wipe my whiteboard, despite the fact that my allegedly erasable pens are erasable only to an extent – the other extent remaining on my whiteboard for all to see. And for me to wipe off with something stronger than water. Like alcohol. But not the alcohol I drink. The REALLY hard stuff sold at the chemist. Or pharmacy, as the Americans call it.

While we're on the subject, why do Americans invent words for things that already have perfectly good words? Or use nouns as verbs when there are perfectly adequate verbs that can be used instead?

Anyway, paper towels. They come in rolls. Well, they don't actually come. They are brought home in rolls. Typically in twos, threes or other multiples, covered in clear and often printed plastic film like my father-in-law used to make at his factory. Not his factory. The one where he worked. Although they didn't make film for paper towels.

Paper towel rolls are always running out. You'd therefore think someone would invent an endless paper towel roll. That and endless loo paper rolls. That would certainly come in handy. No more "Excuse me! Can someone please bring me a roll of loo paper? This one's run out."

I use too many exclamation marks. Or points, as the Americans unnecessarily say, since they were called marks before Columbus discovered America.

I know: that's a lie. Call it poetic licence. As opposed to poetic justice, which is when you shoot someone because they stole the last line of your poem. Or penned a poem or sonnet about a subject you'd thought about but hadn't yet got round to writing about.

Like this shit.