We might end up getting a divorce

It has been six years since we got married.
Our household has a relatively laid-back partnership, but we share a common understanding that we should never forget to show respect and gratitude to each other. I think our relationship is very good.

Regarding our habits, quirks, and personal preferences in daily life, we have maintained a "to each their own" style unless it's something truly extreme.

Even for a single drop of water, my husband uses two tissues to wipe it up.
While I think to myself that one would be enough, I am grateful that he wipes it up at all, and even when he vacuums up food crumbs from the dining table, I swallow the inner voice that screams, "OH MY GOD!!! GO BACK AND RELEARN BASIC HYGIENE FROM YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE!!! WHAT IS THE POINT OF A DISH CLOTH!!!" and instead express gratitude for his stance that "a clean, tidy state is the correct one."

Well, there are many, many, many things, but we are even.

I turn the existence in our life into nothing while making a mess, and my husband turns it back into nothing, so I consider it balanced and fine. It is a form of acceptance disguised as gratitude.

In such a peaceful home, let me tell you about the only incident where we clashed fiercely behind the scenes, the Towel Conflict (2012-present)—where we deny each other's preferred towels and, in some cases, try to eliminate them without the other noticing.

It was when I was trying to use the thin towels that were always in the house as rags and throw them away that my husband called out, "Don't throw them away."

Believing that good towels are naturally more comfortable, I would diligently demote the thin towels (hereafter referred to as "thin-tows") to rag status and maintain order in the towel shelf by keeping the ones I liked—those that weren't too thick, had a soft, silky feel, and were pleasant against the skin.
I want my husband to use comfortable towels, too. What a noble love it is.

However, it turned out that day that the "thin-tows," while I was actively trying to eliminate them, were actually his preferred towels, which he was actively introducing into the house.

I was unable to hide my bewilderment at the time.

They're too thin, aren't they? These.
In some cases, they don't even absorb water as well as a rag, right?

Ah, I see. My husband doesn't know.He is a "good towel virgin."His love for "thin-tows" is like the attachment one has to the "for now" items used during one's days of living alone with no money, and once he experiences a higher rank, he will surely never be able to go back.

Thinking this, at every opportunity, I would push my side of the argument:Husband, are you actually getting dry? Are you really okay with this towel...? Here, bury your face in this comfortable towel! Here! Here!! It was to the point where I could have been sued for towel harassment.

However, his will was firm, and his affection for the "thin-tows" remained unshaken.

At first, I let it slide, thinking, "You're an adult, so use something appropriate..." but as the presence of those "thin-tows" grew on the towel shelf day by day, I gradually began to hate them.

Driven by my own ego, I began to completely deny my husband's preferences.
Towel Conflict had broken out.

I suspect my husband notices that I secretly move his old "thin-tows" to another cupboard, use them as rags, or actively bring them out to clean up after the children, slowly but surely making them disappear.
If I do it too blatantly, it might lead to a divorce scandal. Even with that sense of crisis, I couldn't suppress my fixed ideas about towels and my desire for a peaceful life surrounded by comfortable ones.

My husband glares at me, saying, "Don't throw them away, okay?" as I hold a "thin-tow" that clearly reached the end of its life.
He probes in a clearly hostile way, saying, "My towels seem to be decreasing."

Even though he is usually dry and cool, he is a pacifist who doesn't like conflict and usually yields to me, but now he is showing open hostility.

"Respect and gratitude for each other." We have been together for six years, our family has grown, and we manage as a team, but... wait, surely you can at least let me use the towel you used to wipe up spilled coffee and stained as a rag...?

This design, which collapses the moment you wash it and abandons even the concept of being 'brushed.' If you're going to call yourself a towel, you really ought to establish a proper pile structure! I can't help but think that.

No, I'm not trying to make fun of it.
I don't want to deny it, either.
I truly want to accept these thin towels, and I want to accept him, who loves their simple charm so dearly, if I possibly can.

Everyone is different, and everyone is good.
When it comes to towels, isn't it just a matter of everyone using what they like? Tastes and thoughts really are different for everyone, and you think it's the best feeling to scrub your hair with that scratchy towel, right? The roughness of a towel is a man's romance. Is that the vibe? Am I getting it right?

But every time I see the shelf where these suuuuper thin towels are stored, every time I see them squeezed tightly between towels of decent thickness, a certain sense of disappointment and sadness washes over me, and I can't help but cry.

So thin... It's just too thin...
Oh, brushed texture that can't even withstand wiping away the tears that fall...
At this point, wouldn't two tissues be fine?
Actually, two tissues would be fine. You can even use three.

For better or worse, the time has come to replace our towels again.

The sad contradiction that a life event which should be slightly happy—replenishing towels, which are consumables—carries the seeds of conflict.
For now, since we are comrades-in-arms for life, I still want us to spend our days in a way that is comfortable for both of us.

What is the correct ratio of towels when considering everyone's happiness? And does a new star towel exist in this world that could be a compromise between the 'thin' camp and the 'plush' camp?

Next, I really want to try this. It looks so comfortable.