Laundry Matters

Last week, I talked about a pet peeve I didn't even know I had-- well, before I found out about that pet peeve, there was a GIANT, and I mean

GIANT

pet peeve I did know I had.

It has to do with laundry, and it goes something like this:

If you stick clean clothes back in the hamper, or in a pile in the couch  and leave it there for an extended amount of time where they will surely wrinkle...

I will kill you.

No, okay... I'm kidding. I won't kill you, but you might just wish I did.

I don' t know when this started, I mean I didn't even start doing my own laundry til I moved out of my mother's house, which was when I was 19. I had to ask my first college roommate how it was done (true story). But it doesn't matter, because the point is... when I discover that this has happened, my chest gets tight, my face gets hot, and I want to explode. Yes, seriously. 

I can't control it.

I'm a woman. and a mama. 

Laundry matters, ya know?

Instead of exploding, I have somehow managed to convince myself to take 10 deep breaths (and we need every single one), and RE-DO the laundry. But you know what, I hate doing laundry, and enough is enough!

So yesterday, after the Hubs spent his afternoon doing this:

and then left this:

I had a slight meltdown. 

I had every intention of calling the Hubs to simply and calmly remind him of my OCD/Anxiety/Panic attack about laundry, but it came out more like this:

The fiesty came out.

I tried and tried to suppress it, but I just couldn't control it.

So this is my public apology:

Dear Hubs,

I'm sorry. Don't hate me :)

Love, 

Me