We share a home with two teenage swimmers. You know what that means?

A towel-less existence, that’s what it means.

“Open up!” I demanded.

“Mom! I’m taking a shower!”

“I know that. What I don’t know and want to find out is if you’re using a brand-new towel, fresh from the linen closet, rather than, say, one of the seven towels currently on the floor of your room.”

“Mom!”

Aha. No denials, just generalized indignation. Guilty!

In the past I would’ve launched into a tirade worthy of gold plating and a prominent display in the Motherhood Hall of Fame. Today I just smiled and made a notch in my notebook.

“That’ll be a buck!” I said through the door.

“MOM!”

“Plus one dollar for each of the towels on your floor. Thank you for coming to Hotel Wren, please enjoy your stay.”

“MOMMMMMMM!”

Why, I rather like this new financial arrangement Hubby set up. It almost takes the sting out of doing the laundry.

Almost.