The Towel

I was in Bacolod last weekend and after a good Sunday lunch I borrowed my mother’s minivan to drop my father off at Robinson’s mall—his favorite hangout—and then to proceed to a reunion with my old biking friends. As I was driving out of the gate, I saw my mother’s helper running towards the creeping beige Rusco van.

“Wait, wait, wait. Your mom wants you have this towel,” the helper said in vernacular as he reached the driver side. “Why?” I asked puzzled with the urgency. “Just take it, she insists.” So I absentmindedly took the towel and drove off to go about my tasks on that lazy high noon.

More than twelve kilometers later at an average speed of 60 kilometers per hour, I parked at Sta. Fe Resort and saw my face at the rearview mirror almost soaking with sweat. That was when I realized the purpose of the neatly folded towel which I have tossed at the backseat. Thanks, nanay. You still know best.

***

Mood: 2/10 Honks! (I still can’t believe I just paid PhP 7K for this blog to continue being online for the next 3 years.)

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