MADISON, WI — A local homeowner, a 44-year-old hospital pharmacist, has now spent three consecutive days trying to reconstruct what exactly her houseguest was doing during his weekend stay, based primarily on the pattern of oddly stiffened washcloths the guest left throughout the second-floor bathroom.
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The guest, a 46-year-old college friend of the pharmacist’s husband, had stayed at the residence Friday through Sunday, during which time he had used, per the pharmacist’s count, “at least fourteen washcloths,” each of which had been left in different locations around the guest bathroom, and each of which had, upon discovery Monday morning, dried into what the pharmacist described as “sculptural shapes.”
“They’re crunchy,” the pharmacist said Wednesday, holding one up for inspection with two fingers, at a distance. “They’re bone dry. They’re not folded. They’re just — they’re these shapes now. This one,” she said, gesturing, “is standing up on its own. On its own. Get in here and look at this one, it’s standing up on its own.“
The washcloths, sources confirmed, were found in the following locations: three on the edge of the bathtub, two on the vanity, one draped over the toilet paper holder, two in the wastebasket but not fully in the wastebasket, three in the corner behind the door, one balled up on top of the towel rack, one on the windowsill for reasons the pharmacist could not explain, and one — inexplicably — folded and returned to the linen closet on top of a stack of clean towels, in a way that suggested the houseguest had intended to reinsert it into circulation and had, at the last possible moment, either lost his nerve or lost his memory.
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None of them, sources also confirmed, had been rinsed.
“That’s the part that gets me,” the pharmacist said. “He didn’t rinse any of them. He used them for whatever he used them for. And then he just — he set them down. Wherever he happened to be standing. And they dried. And now I have to deal with them.”
Her husband, a 45-year-old civil engineer, has been drawn, reluctantly, into the ongoing forensic analysis.
“We’ve been trying to build a timeline,” the husband said, holding one of the washcloths gingerly by a corner, at arm’s length, the way one holds a small dead animal. “This one — this one has, like, a crust on it. What is the crust. What could the crust possibly be. He was here for two nights. Two nights. And he generated fourteen of these. Fourteen. That’s seven a night. That’s — that’s more than three per waking hour. That’s a rate. That’s a sustained rate.“
He was asked whether he had considered simply asking the houseguest.
He looked at his wife.
His wife looked at him.
“No,” they said in unison.
The couple have known the houseguest since the husband’s college years. He lives in Denver. He is divorced. He visits approximately once a year. He is, per the husband, “a great guy,” “very fun at dinner parties,” and “a really solid tennis doubles partner.” He is also, per both spouses, “impossible to ask about the washcloths.”
“You can’t just ask a grown man that,” the husband said. “You can’t say, buddy — hey — what were you doing with the washcloths. That is a question that cannot be un-asked. Once you ask it, you have received the answer. You will know. You will have to carry the knowing. For the rest of the friendship. Every time he comes over. Every Christmas card. You will look at him and you will know.”
His wife nodded gravely.
“We are, at this point, alone with this,” she said.
The couple have, over the course of the week, developed several theories.
Theory One, the husband’s, is that the houseguest has developed some elaborate multi-step nightly grooming routine involving a hot washcloth pressed against the face for exfoliation, and that the crust is simply a byproduct of concentrated skincare products drying overnight. This theory does not account for the volume. It does not, his wife has noted, account for the rate.
Theory Two, the pharmacist’s, developed in the shower Tuesday morning and immediately regretted, is that the houseguest — recently divorced, staying in a strange house, on his own for the first weekend in a while — was using the washcloths for a purpose that would explain both the volume and the crust, and that this purpose is one the couple are, at this juncture in the friendship, categorically not equipped to discuss out loud.
She has, since developing this theory, been unable to look her husband in the eye when he raises it.
He has been raising it.
Theory Three, developed jointly and reluctantly late Wednesday evening while sharing a bottle of wine on the back porch, is that both Theory One and Theory Two are correct, and that the houseguest is a man with an extremely thorough skincare routine and one additional weekend hobby, and that the washcloths represent, in aggregate, a full accounting of his weekend, and that the couple are now, whether they like it or not, in possession of that accounting.
“He’s been alone a while,” the husband said quietly, staring at the basket.
“He’s been alone a while,” his wife agreed.
“I want to give him grace,” the husband said.
“I want to give him grace too,” his wife said. “I do. He’s your friend. He’s been through a lot. I just — I need him to know about the linen closet next time. I need him to know that we keep the clean ones in there.“
“He didn’t know,” the husband said.
“He couldn’t have known,” his wife said.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Do you think he’ll want to come back next year,” his wife said eventually.
“He always wants to come back next year,” the husband said.
“Right,” she said.
She took a long sip of her wine.
“I’ll set out the older set,” she said.
The washcloths, sources confirmed, are currently sitting in a laundry basket in the mudroom. The pharmacist has washed them three times. They are still, per her most recent assessment, “not quite right.” She has, she said, been considering whether to just quietly throw them away and buy a new set before the houseguest’s next visit, and whether her husband would notice, and whether her husband would ask.
She does not think, she said, that her husband would ask.
She does not think, she said, that any of them will ever ask anything, about any of this, ever again.
At press time, the houseguest had texted the husband Tuesday to thank the family for the wonderful weekend. He had used four exclamation points. He had, sources confirmed, said nothing about the washcloths.
He had, sources also confirmed, no idea.
He was, sources further confirmed, already looking at his calendar for next fall.