My Fucking Father's Cleaning Jags

So this is the first time in a long time, if not ever, that I've seen him in the morning take out the industrial mop bucket (you know, the one with the detachable straining thing) to clean.  I know he cleans, and I'm pretty sure he does it every day because he's got nothing fuckin' else to do, but this is the first time I've seen him literally use it, here on a Saturday morning.

To prove that I'm not lazy-ass who sleeps till noon (I can't anymore; the work schedule won't let me, goddammit), I get up at 10 (after getting up at 9:30 and checking the Internet on my iPhone -- those damn things are addicting!) to do the laundry that really should be done.  I have a whole pile of it, and most of it is warm wash/cold dry, so I can get a lot done this morning.

Father is downstairs putting water into the industrial bucket and gives me permission to use the washer.  Thanks, I was going to use it even if you didn't let me.  I was going to put the first of the items in, an old red bath towel.  Yeah, it's seen its better days, and the bristles have been tamped down so much the towel is flat.  There's no way you can dry yourself.  It's like trying to dry yourself with the non-sticky side of a piece of tape.  And yet it works enough for me to keep it, because I'm a packrat.

My Father, however, is not, and I had the unfortunate luck to toss it into the wash when he saw that and evoked all the times he has gone into my bathroom to see that thing and conjure up feelings of hatred to it.

"Don't put that in!" he said, "Put that over there, and I'll take care of it."

And, I call that interference.  Maybe I shouldn't lose it over a towel that can't really do its one job.  But this, to me, seems like him being a goddamn nag all over again.  I'm over it.  I didn't even bother putting in the rest of the laundry.  I just ... left.  Instead I changed the bedspread and am washing the bed cover right now, a huge thing that I always wash alone because anything else gets caught up and tied into it so it doesn't get properly washed or dried.  I just did that just ... to get away from fucking him.

Oh, and he still went into my bedroom to mop the floor.  Probably to see what else I didn't clean to his exact standards.  What a fuck.