It's Gotta Be Somewhere...

I consider myself a person in the "easy-going," "Type-B" category of people most of the time. There are certain situations that can really make me seem the opposite, most of them involve members of the opposite sex that refuse to acknowledge the blundering of their ways and the enlightenment of my way. Most of the time, I am a flexible person, and no one needs to worry about offending me or making me angry when they make an off-hand comment. I am not easily offended and would rather concern myself with putting energy where it matters, and that is NOT with being angry over trivial matters or upset over nothing or picky about details that I cannot change anyway. This is just who I am. Not everyone is like this, but I rather enjoy this. I think it helps me enjoy the little moments in life, like getting "cuddle time" with my daughter or a ten minute phone conversation with a friend. I would consider my mother the opposite type of person. I have very few memories of "cuddling" with her or just hanging out and reading a book. She is a very "goal seeking" person, and most of her goals involved a spotless house when I was a kid. Crazy, wonderful woman. We contrast in this way. She is the uptight personality, I am the more easy going one. However, this is not always the case. I do have "things" that really bother me. "Things" that I won't do, have, touch, be near. Everyone does.

I have to say that one thing that really bothers me is underwear. Not my own, or now my daughter's, but other peoples'. I am very weird about folding even my family's under garments. I mean, they're my family. I lived with them. I made a very big deal about folding other people's underwear until I was too old to be doing that. I don't know when I was traumatized or why this bothers me so much, but it does. Every time I think about it, I flash back to age eight or so at my grandpa and grandma I's house. I found an old skate board in their garage and needed to clean it off. My grandmother handed me some soap, water, and a pair of my grandfather's old underwear to clean it with. I refused to touch anything but the band to clean with. I hated it. Eww. I'm hating even typing this. Gross.

This all leads to the bags of clothes that my dear Aunt Beth passed on to my daughter this weekend. I'm very excited about them. I went through them and found lots of pretty summer dresses and cute shorts for my little one. Also in the bag of hand-me-downs were two pair of little girl underwear that I was going to throw away. They are used underwear. Eww. I have enough money to buy underwear for my kid. Maybe not everyone does, but I do. However, my mother does not feel the same way. Before I could dump the unwanted under garments in the trash can, she "rescued" them and put them in the washer. "They're just little girls, Rachel. Their underwear can't be that bad," she smiled at me like I was crazy. "I don't care, Mother; it's gross!" came my witty reply. "Well, I'll keep them, just in case of an emergency," she smiled again.

So, I ask you, what kind of emergency will keep me from driving 3.5 miles to the closest dollar store and buying her a new pair next time I forget to pack enough underwear? What kind of "emergency" would keep me from putting her pants on her WITHOUT underwear and driving the extra 5 miles to Wal-Mart if she needed underwear that bad?

Used underwear, beware. When I find you, you're so out in the dumpster. I'm the mom. I have to draw the line. Here it is.