Laundry

This trip involved a lot of figuring out the details.  Details such as, "You keep too much crap in my bathroom and it freaks me out."  Well, GPOM, it takes a lot to look as good as I do. 

Still, because I am a good person, I didn't overreact much.  (Too much.  OK, I grabbed everything out, threw it all into my suitcase, and screamed, "Fine!  Are you happy now?"  Because I never overpersonalize anything.)

I told GPOM while he was headed out the door that I would handle the laundry.  Some people hate doing laundry.  I kinda hate doing laundry.  OK, I don't hate it, but I'd much rather check in on Real Housewives than do anything that involves domestic violence work.

I have a special place for the handling of the laundry.  Let me explain...at some point when I was in college, I had a lovely lingerie set from Victoria's Secret.  The bra and front part of the panties (you probably should've stopped reading by now) were satin, and the behind-coverage was cotton.  Gorgeous.  Simply gorgeous.  I came home for a weekend to my parents' place, and placed my accouterments into the loving hands of my mother - she who can wash anything, and whom I think might have invented Mother Saliva as a stain remover.  Unfortunately, my dad decided to help.  By putting bleach into that load of laundry.

My dress-up gear was ruined, and needless to say, I was F.U.R.I.O.U.S.

I hollered at my dad, and pointed out that this was an expensive set.  His response was that I shouldn't have spent so much on undergarments.

NOT. THE. POINT.

So I told GPOM that no matter what else I was willing to sacrifice in our home, I would always be in control of the laundry.

"Cool," he said.