I have a washcloth story to share, although here, we usually refer to them as facecloths.
Not so many years back, my H’s parents came to stay for a weekend w/us. I have written a little elsewhere about their particularly egocentric natures.
My H and I had facecloths, used daily and usually found hanging on the edge of the bath for convenience; his was dark, mine was cream.
On the first night of their visit, I was the last person to retire to bed after finishing clearing up from dinner.
On entering the bathroom, I saw my cream facecloth, neatly folded on the bath, but thickly smeared with foundation and lipstick. I was a bit taken aback by the fact that my MIL had helped herself to such a personal item that was both damp and evidently previously used, particularly as there were both face cream and cosmetic pads on display and available for her requirements.
I decided, like any considerate hostess, to say nothing to her and simply place the item in the laundry.
I don’t think she would have been too happy to learn that my ‘facecloth’ was reserved solely for washing my ‘intimate area’ and only a short while before she started rubbing it around her face, that was exactly where it had been!
