I'm supposed to dry my body with this? The towel he just handed me is both the size and texture of a cat's tongue. No wait, a cat's tongue is probably more absorbent. This is so small! It can barely cover one boob, much less two of 'em! As an added bonus, I get to run from the bathroom to his room wrapped in this postage stamp-sized mini-towel, lest I flash his roommate unwittingly.
I'm pretty sure that he got it when he went to college and he hasn't washed it since Clinton was in office. It is all matted like a homeless man's dreadlock. Not to get all technical here, but a towel only really has one job: to dry. This shithow South Philly towel he expects me to use is clearly not drying me. Rather, it's just pushing the water around and scratching my skin. It's starting to hurt.
Yes, using his towel is like being scratched by a homeless man's dreadlock while I'm in a sprint. And, that just makes me sad.