Christ, Father, I Used Them For One Fucking Day

So Father continues on his cleaning jags.  And maybe it's a case where I've gotten used to them, but it feels as though he has lightened up.  I do see that all my stuff on the floor is stacked up, some of them sometimes on my bed, and he is moving everything in the bathroom and not putting it back, which is a pain in the ass.  But there is one thing I am, I guess I should say today, thankful for is that he has not either touched or talked about the piles of papers on the dresser next to the television.  I don't even know what's in there -- guess it's a mix of mail and copies of City Pages -- but I know I should get around to it.  And I will.  Soon.  Maybe.

Anyway, one of the things before I go to work in the morning is throw my pajamas on my bed.  I usually see them on the bed when I come back home.  But on Monday (I think) was one of those, uh, uncommon times where Father takes my pj's and throws them in with the rest of my dirty clothes to clean them.  So I came home to a hamper full of new, clean clothes, but my pajamas were missing.

I didn't like it this time because I had just worn my pj's once.  I usually keep wearing the same pajama shirt and pants for weeks at a time.  I had just changed out of these warm and comfy pj's that I think I had worn for more than a month.  Why do I need them cleaned so often?  I only wear them around the house.

And that was my plan for these pajama bottoms, although I don't have pajama tops I'm wearing this time around because I don't have too many and my thermalwear top is bulky enough.  Father took that plan away from me.  So I went to the next one.  I have this, uh, "cycle" where I roll up (not fold) my clothes and line them up in order, so I just go into my pajama drawer and pull out the next pajama up.

But the next pajama up is a off-yellow, sheer, summer, Chinese one that, turns out, has lost its elastic.  I have had to continue to hike up my pants whenever I get up.  That's annoying.  I tried giving it a chance, but I couldn't take it anymore, and this morning, I threw that in the hamper and took the next pair of pj bottoms, which is not as fitting nor as thick as the one that Father cleaned after just one wearing.  Pssh.

And you know what?  He did the same thing when he took my bath towel, too.  I know, right?  I had changed towels Sunday night, cycling to this new, big, deep one.  That replaced a green one that I have had since college -- smaller, whose fibers are now shortened and deadened after years of washing.  And it smells kind of funky, too.  And since My Father took the new one away from me for a cleaning it didn't need, I took the next towel out of the closet ... which was a yellow towel that I have had since college, and was just as small and had fibers that are just as shortened and deadened as the green towel, because I remember buying both at the same time.  And that towel smells funky, too.

I didn't realize how annoyed I am with those green and yellow towels.  They were literally made a generation ago, and I guess I didn't realize the trend and technology of bath towels have changed significantly since then.  Those towels are old, but they still do their jobs, and I have a sentimental attachment to them.  But if they don't cover my body as I walk from the bathroom to the bedroom, and they don't dry me as well as my newer towels, and if they continue to stink up ... yeah, I have thought about donating those towels.  I am going to donate those Chinese thin pajama bottoms.

But hey, I don't think I would even be thinking in such an existential way if Father and his cleaning OCD didn't take pajamas and bath towels that didn't need to be cleaned because I used them just one.  Fucking.  Time.

Oh -- Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.