Confession

I have this thing. It’s about laundry soap.

I hate it — actually, I don’t think that statement is strong enough. I loathe it with a special passion reserved for rapists and puppy kickers. I don’t know why, and I wasn’t always like this, but I am completely and totally OCD about our laundry. The “fresh” and “floral” and “clean rain” smell drive me to madness. Don’t even get me started on fabric softener. The residue that crap leaves behind. Now, please hear me out, if you use those products (and my husband swears I’m the only one who doesn’t…I’m unconvinced) please, PLEASE don’t take this personally. I know Im strange. I love you, I just won’t ask you to do my laundry (which, when you think about it, ain’t that bad).

This thing with laundry started about 5 years ago and I’m pretty sure it was gradual. Makes me worry what it will look like in another 5 years… but anyway, I’ve hurt some pretty important feelings with this thing of mine. (Not to say all feelings aren’t important).

Exhibit A

Last year my husbands family came to visit from Peru. They don’t come very often, maybe once every 18 months or so. I like them, they are wonderful, wonderful people and I couldn’t ask for better or kinder in-laws. Unfortunately, they did not know about my thing. My SIL, we’ll call her N, is a very likable person. Happy, bubbly, and talkative, and loves to shop. For one reason or another, we bump heads. I’m pretty sure, however, that she doesn’t know we bump heads. I try to keep it to myself. Oh, and she doesn’t speak English. That helps with the keeping it to myself part…She decided to buy a big ‘ol container of Tide to use for their laundry while they were visiting (thoughtful, I know). They stay for weeks at a time. Very thoughtful of her, I will give her that. Again, she didn’t know about my thing. When I came home from work and saw that bottle on the shelf… well… think Elmer Fud in Bugs Bunny with the red face and smoke coming out his ears.

MARCO!!! I sweetly bellow. Poor guy. Because of the whole bumping of the heads, I’m not always Marco’s favorite person when his family is here. Like I said, poor guy. I released a tirade of great proportions that not only made me look like a jerk, but subjected my patient husband (and his listening family by default) to my jerkiness. Remember how I said N doesn’t speak English? Well, the rest of the family understands enough to catch my drift.  Once I picked up the pieces of my anger and stomped off to my bedroom, I realized the stupidity of my outburst. Did I step over my pride and apologize? Uuuuummm, no. Wish that story had a nice little red-bow ending but it doesn’t. I just hung out in my room and pretended like nothing had happened when I finally emerged.

I’ve come to believe that everyone has those things. Maybe yours isn’t laundry. (If it is, LET ME KNOW!!!). The point is, don’t let your thing hurt somebody else. Because it’s yours. Not theirs. I heard this on a movie once and it rang so true in my ears: Don’t step over love to pick up pride and anger. Because what will pride and anger look like in one year? In five years?