Washing cars vs. laundry


I knew being a newlywed was difficult.  This wasn’t my first rodeo. Everyone’s lives change.  Everyone has to adjust, accommodate and consider the other person.  In this case, it was my kid, his kid and his mom – as well as the two of us.

Everything had to be done his way.  It was in his favor that we weren’t near my family.  Therefore he didn’t have to ostracize me from my support group.  I left them willingly and moved 200 miles away not realizing the narcissist he was.  I just thought he was friendly, funny and outgoing.

One of the first major obstacles I ran into was “Cars vs. Laundry”  I didn’t understand at that time that his way was the only way.  Silly me.

Daddy Booboo was meticulous about his vehicles.  He usually washed them weekly – which included a full vacuum, wiping every surface clean inside and out.  He had a formula to cleaning a vehicle and no other way was acceptable.

You had to turn the radio up full volume.  Then you vacuumed, sprayed, and wiped.  If you were particularly motivated, you could take the assigned toothbrush to the small areas. Ok, yeah.  Who does that?  Not this girl!  The car I had when I met him, I didn’t dare wash because the dirt was what held it together.   Remember…when I had that random thought about eating off his floorboards?  I should’ve stood by that initial gut feeling.

Once the inside was complete, you moved to the outside.  First you sprayed the wheels with the wheel stuff.  Then you sprayed the bugs with the bug stuff.  THEN you scrubbed all the wheels getting the black brake dust off the rims. OK, that kinda’ makes sense.  Let the dead bugs soak and get soft while you do another part.  Do the wheels first.  Once I started doing it his way, though, I would use a little water for the wheels then put fresh water & soap in the bucket.  He used a big bucket of gray water after the wheels.  You had to use the “tire brush” for the wheels so they didn’t scratch the fancy rims.  I had to accept his word for this because I’d never had a car I had to consider scratching the rims.  I mean, my $12 hub caps had been gone for years – and when I did have them, who cared if they got scratched by the brush?  To scrub the bugs off, you had to use the proper sponge that had a soft webbing around it.  I don’t really know how to describe it, but of course I’d know it if I saw it – it is seared in my brain.  Anything other would scratch the paint. AFTER you got the bugs off, then you would wet, wash and rinse from the top down.  OK, I get that.  But you could only use the appropriate vehicle washing cloth.

After the wash came the dry.  I’ve always dried via Mother Nature.  But not Daddy Booboo!  No, now we had to wipe all the water off.  With towels.  By hand.  IF it was a black vehicle, it had to be washed AND dried in long horizontal wipes.  WTF?

So, we’ve established that the car MUST be washed HIS way, for it was the only correct way – says he.

Now, we’ll onto the laundry.  My mother was a fanatic about doing things “right”.  I was taught that to do laundry properly, it must be sorted by fabric, then color.  It was a sin of the saints if a piece of clothing was ruined in the washing machine – discolored or reduced to fit into Barbie’s wardrobe.  This is how I was taught to wash our clothes.  Every Saturday. For the whole house.  No playing until the chores were done and laundry put away.

I thought to myself, “Self, surely he would like to know how to properly wash laundry since he is sooooooo particular about washing the vehicles properly.”  Ha!  Silly me!  It was a horrendous nightmare of  him telling me “I’ll do it however I want and you should be grateful I’m even helping.”  I kept hoping if I reminded him or if I showed him the ruined pieces or helped him understand the reasons (which Daddy Booboo has none of) for separating color that he would be willing to change his thought process.  I had gray underwear and pink socks.  My fancy bright towels turned dingy and bleach spotted.  I even tried separating the laundry for him.  Here! A pile of blue jeans + a pile of white cotton + a pile of red t-shirts (all sorted nicely for 3 different loads) = one Daddy Booboo load of purple.  Sigh.

In a typical acquiescing manner, I just tried to appreciate the fact that he was doing laundry and the results justified increasing my wardrobe.  Whatever makes a girl happy.  We shall discuss my spending habits in another post…I’m sure you can just imagine.

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