Confession

I don't think of myself as a nagging control freak (then again, what nagging control freak does?) but I regularly harass Ross about his clothes.  Well, not really his clothes - although any outfit that includes his "dress sweats" leaves something to be desired - but what he does with them.  My complaints fall into this cycle:

1. Why haven't you put your clean, folded laundry away?  I washed and folded it for you, and left it conveniently on your side of the bed where you'd have to deal with it before going to sleep-- oh, I see.  You're just going to move the pile from the bed to the floor.  Problem solved, I suppose.  (side eye)

2. Why haven't you put away the laundry you left on the floor last night?  Now it's less neatly-folded and more accidentally-kicked-over, but it's still the easiest part of the laundry process!  Just pick it up off the floo-- oh, I see.  You've moved the pile from the floor to the top of your dresser.  Touché. 

2a. Why are your clothes in the living room/kitchen?  I know you like to undress the moment you walk in the door, but can you at least put your clothes in the bedroom?  Just put it wherever, I don't care*, as long as it's not in the living room/kitchen.   

2b. What are all these clothes doing in your car??  Can you at least bring them in the house**? 

3. I need to do laundry, but I can't tell what's clean or dirty anymore.  What is this pile next to your side of the bed?  What about the pile on top of your dresser?  None of it's folded, it all looks dirty!$^*

And so it goes.  To his credit, Ross barely pays me any mind, nonchalantly responding to my requests in his own time.  I don't seem to annoy him (hence, my possibly incorrect assumption that I am not a nagging control freak, which I probably am).  The man is a saint.  A darling, messy saint.

I also fall victim to these bad habits - the difference between us is our approach.  Our brains are wired differently, making me hyper-aware of the situation.  To combat my tendency to procrastinate, I try to work extra hard to stay on top of such chores (see #6).  Ross simply does not sweat the small stuff, as they say.  Laundry is not on his radar, despite my best efforts to force it onto his radar. 

You may be wondering, why don't I just put his laundry away for him, like a good wife?  (side eye)  I have, and I still do sometimes.  But the urge to pull out all of his clothes, re-folding and organizing everything, is overwhelming.  I just don't have time to deal with my own OCD.  (And he probably prefers I stay out of his dresser, as I have the tendency to purge things to Goodwill or Ebay without consulting him.)

ALL OF THIS TO SAY... None of the above is my confession.  Or perhaps it's a bonus confession about what a shrew I am about laundry.  Having this knowledge makes my actual confession all the more shameful and ridiculous. 

In July 2010, my father got married, and I stood beside him in a lovely lime green dress.  No sarcasm - this dress is great.  Awesome funky color, maximum re-wearability.  I would include a photo here, but I don't think I have any***.

So I wore the dress once, but had every intention of wearing it again.  Then we found out I was pregnant with EV, so dry cleaning the dress became low priority.  It stayed neatly folded atop my dresser... for about seven months.  Then I had the baby in January.  Then before I knew it, it was July again and my dad celebrated his anniversary and I realized WOW, I've been staring at this bright green dress every day for a WHOLE YEAR, moving it to find things, cleaning around it, and it still needs to be dry cleaned.  For shame!  I took it with me to work one day with the intent to drop it off at a dry cleaners.  You can probably guess where this is going.

I never dropped it off.  It stayed neatly folded on the passenger seat until someone needed to sit there, then it got moved to the floor.  Neatly folded, of course.  For another seven months.  Where it still sits today, right now, no longer neatly folded.  More than a year and a half since the first and only time I wore it, it's wrinkled and neglected and dirtier than ever, taunting me as I move it to make room for kids or groceries or wet umbrellas. 

Ross has been in the van countless times and never seems to notice it.  For once, I'm thankful for his chronic laundry blindness, which is saving me from the added shame of admitting I'm a hypocrite.  After he reads this post, never again will I able to lecture him about having no respect for his belongings.  I deserve it! 

P.S.  I'm taking the dress to get cleaned this week, I swear.  I hope it's salvageable, it's a great dress.  I'll wear it and take a picture.  Then I'll take it to be dry cleaned the next day, then I'll pick it up in a timely fashion, hang it safely in my closet, and never touch it again.  Clearly I cannot be trusted with nice things.  #knowthyself  #breakthecycle


*I do care, see 2.
**What I mean is, see 2.
***Or maybe I purposefully forgot where to find them because not even the awesome dress could save me from the dire mistake I made by cutting my own bangs the night before the wedding.  Every time!  I never learn.