Nobody told me dish towels were like socks

When I first moved into this place down here in LA my grandmother generously sent me about fifteen dish towels, which I thought was just her being excessive in her typical grandmother fashion.

But now, a mere 10 months later or so, I’m down to only six dish towels. I just washed every dish towel I could find, which was surprisingly few. I have no idea what could be happening to them. I know that socks are often grabbed by gremlins in the dryer, but dish towels are far harder to miscount on the way out.

My only other theory is that there is actually a small man living somewhere in this apartment without my knowledge. He steals bits of my toys, rolls of tape, and dish towels in order to build a fort where he can post a sign that says “No Girls Allowed.”

I need to find this little man and join his club.