"The" vs. "My"

Paws off, please

I grew up in a "the" house. When it came to public areas--  kitchen, downstairs bathroom, dining room, den, etc., they were all democratic "the" rooms. The kitchen. The bathroom. The dining room. My wife, on the other hand, grew up in a "my" house. Thus, I hear, "My kitchen's a mess." Even when it is the place where I prepare well over 50% of the meals and often do the dishes, somehow, I'm making a mess in that room she refers to as "my kitchen."

Not that I care all that much. It's funny though, the one holdover I have from my childhood home has to do with division and ownership in the kitchen. It's not a "the" or "my" issue but, rather, a separation of items based on purpose. In short: You can call it "my" kitchen if you like but don't confuse a hand towel with a dish towel. It's the church-and-state issue of the household and it drives me nuts.

In the home in which I grew up my Mom was always adamant about kitchen towels. Crazy perhaps but not without cause, in retrospect. Hand towels hang there so you can wash off the chicken, hamburger, whatever, and dry your hands-- well washed or not. A dish towel, on the other hand (I know. Clever, right?), is used to dry clean just-washed dishes-- not for wiping the chef's might-be clean hands. Imagine my distress the other evening then, when I found my wife and her mom working in the kitchen; Tam with a hand towel scrunched up on the counter adjacent to her work space, her mom with the dish towel draped over her shoulder. I held my tongue and walked away. Right straight to this damn computer, that is!

I know I can be a picky overbearing control freak. I know I have bigger issues to attend to right now. And I'm willing to surrender title to the kitchen. Just, please, if you ever find yourself in her kitchen, unless you're drying the dishes, keep your mitts off my dish towel! My mom and I thank you.