I found out an interesting little tidbit the other day concerning my husband. It has to do with laundry. Growing up, my mom never used fabric softener in the wash when she was doing our laundry. That was a luxury, and as a single mother of two she kind of had to pick and choose the treats. Personally, I'd take our monthly adventures to Bonanza over fabric softener any day! Fast forward to me as an adult, and I've never seen the big hype about it. Laundry is laundry, it still smells clean, you use the dryer sheets so that there's no static, end of story. Hey, at least it gets done.
Jeff grew up with his mom using it all the time, however. You'd think the shit was liquid gold the way he goes nuts over it. Swear to god, he'll spend 5 minutes in front of all the selections sniffing them to see which one smells the best. I don't know why, because it always ends up being Downy. But whatever, we buy it and go on with our lives.
To me, using it is a pain in the butt! I know it's just one extra step when doing the laundry, but the bottle is too heavy to just pour into the washer cup thingy, so I have to pour it into ANOTHER cup just to put it into the wash. A couple months ago I just stopped using it. I didn't say anything to Jeff, even though I did feel a tiny stab of conscience every time I threw a load in and looked up at that bottle. I ignored that little stab though.
Okay so getting to my point. He noticed the lack of softener use, but didn't say anything. Until Saturday in the detergent isle at London Drugs when he stopped in front of the softener, and brought up the whole thing. Okay, okay, I got caught. I'll start using the freaking liquid gold if it'll make him happier. But actually another thing he noticed but didn't mention is that when I'm taking the clothes out of the washer and putting them in the dryer, I don't shake them out so that they don't wrinkle.
In case you didn't know this, my husband is a perfectionist.
And in case you also didn't know this, there is nothing quite as satisfying to me as doing small little things that annoy him. Pinching his butt as he walks up the stairs. Jumping out at him from behind doors. Turning all the lights out so it's pitch black and he can't see (this one is a fave). And now, added to the list, is doing the laundry and making sure he's downstairs watching as I take all the clothes and flinging them into the dryer in one huge pile of jumbled, wrinkly, mess.