I recently stumbled upon my partner, Mike, folding the towels in a way that drives me absolutely nuts. For him, the “right” way involves folding them in half lengthwise, then crosswise, before cramming them into the cabinet. My stepson, Jake, has embraced this method too. But my preferred technique? I fold the towel in half crosswise, then again, tucking the sides in for a neat tri-fold. This method not only looks visually pleasing but also maximizes space in our compact cabinet.
So, what’s behind Mike’s towel-folding approach? Is he intentionally trying to provoke me? Have the men in this household formed an alliance against my perfectly organized system? Is he simply forgetful, unable to recall our many discussions about this? Or could this be a case of early-onset Alzheimer’s? Perhaps it’s just a classic case of “men are from Mars”? And what about Jake? Is his stubbornness a teenage phase, or is it a subtle rebellion against my authority? Are they conspiring together, or is he just oblivious to my preferences?
Reflecting on it, I can’t help but wonder if this is how Mike’s ex-wife used to fold towels. Maybe they’re both clinging to a past that no longer exists. This is my home, after all, and I refuse to let a towel-folding disagreement disrupt my peace. After navigating through custody battles and all the chaos that comes with blending families, I won’t engage in a fight over how towels are folded. That’s just not happening.
Earlier this week, I lugged a basket of laundry from the back porch to the kitchen, where our dryer fits snugly next to the stove. As I dumped the damp towels into the dryer, scraped the lint and cat hair from the filter, and hit the start button, I knew they’d be warm and cuddly in no time. Yet, they sat in the dryer for days, waiting for someone to fold them, while we scrambled through our cabinets for a clean towel.
Eventually, I retrieved the laundry, and as I carried the fluffy terrycloth to our bed, our cat, Bella, recognized the warmth and sprawled out atop the freshly laundered pile. A cozy, warm towel is her throne, while a cold stack does not hold the same allure.
I enjoy folding towels. There’s something satisfying about the symmetry and neatness of stacked towels, arranged like books in a library. They unfold effortlessly when I pull them out, ready to hang. Folding towels is a simple task—much easier on the heart than tackling T-shirts or sorting through our son’s rapidly growing wardrobe. It’s a small joy, especially with Bella observing me like the queen she is.
Yet, there are days when I’m too swamped to fold towels, and I leave the task to Mike while he immerses himself in sports. When Jake finally gets around to it—if he does at all—the irritation of their difference in folding styles resurfaces like an unwelcome neighbor.
I finally confronted Mike about his towel-folding method, brimming with a mix of frustration and curiosity. Before he even answered, I felt resentment bubbling up, even trying to mask it with humor. “Because that’s how my mom folded them,” he replied, and my anger lessened slightly.
Then he added, “Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d roll them up.”
This took me back to my childhood, recalling how my mother folded towels in neat rolls, their colors faded over the years. I had consciously opted for a different method, but why? I realized I had been imposing a method rooted in nostalgia, a practice passed down from another family.
As I opened up about the past, it became clear that our towel-folding differences were not a big deal. I still prefer the tri-fold look, and they do fit better in the cabinet, but it seems there was never a conspiracy to drive me mad. The real challenge lies in the daily struggles of family life—unwashed dishes, leftover food, and a haphazard mess in the kitchen.
In the end, it’s just towels, and we’ve come to an understanding.
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Summary
In this light-hearted exploration of family dynamics, Emily recounts her amusing struggle with her partner and stepson over the proper way to fold towels. Through humor and reflection, she realizes that these small disagreements are part of the larger tapestry of family life, ultimately leading to a resolution that brings peace.
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