Seventeen of them went into this together. It wasn’t by request or by choice – rather just one of those reoccurring circumstances that happen like it or not.
Though of assorted color and hue, strength and varied size, content of fiber and origin, there was more in common than not. They were each designed for a similar purpose.
So the waters rose as did the harsh realities that come with the territory. Without warning, a near-violent tumult came upon them, accelerating quickly into high speed. With the turbulence at its peak, they clung together and by their alliance became stronger as a whole. They were forged together by the same centrifugal force of the questionably unsafe carnival ride otherwise known as “The Cyclone.” Any expletives or cries for mercy we’re drowned out by the sounds of the mighty waves.
Twelve minutes later followed by what felt like an eternal spin cycle it was all over. Dead stop.
Having survived the storm, by some serendipitous result, they found themselves closer than ever before. The experience in its entirety created a bond that could not be denied. Were they all the stronger for it or had one or two of the decidedly weaker ones experienced one trial too many? One thing was certain. The shared experience had drawn seven of them closer than ever before. They emerged with the appearance of a well coordinated battalion or perhaps even a colorfully orchestrated work of art to the discriminating eye.
After it was over, calm having been restored, they each went on to resume their intended purpose.
Just another day in the life of an ordinary dish towel . . . ? You tell me.