The Queen of ... Blah

While folding laundry (a task involving much swearing and agony, but that's another post), I discovered that I have become exceptionally detail-oriented.

For instance ... there are certain things about clothes that make me refuse to purchase them. Clothing that needs to be ironed every time it's worn does not need to belong to a 7-year old. Collars that refuse to lie down even when still on the rack at the store do not go home.

Yet, while folding clothing, I found these very items in the stacks. This annoys me. I think it's revenge from my mother, to be perfectly honest, for all of the clothes that I just had to have that involved so much effort. It's really ridiculous, though, and I see why it annoyed her so much at the time when I just HAD to have that dry-clean only whatever.

For a few moments, I considered pulling the same stunt my mother had, and hiding the offending articles of clothing. The moment passed, and I let the urge go.

Another discovery gave me a mild case of the giggles, even while groaning in pain over the whole folding trauma. I am The Queen of Khaki. Honest. I had no idea that my wardrobe had become so subtle, so mild, so ... boring. If it wasn't an earthtone in some muted shade, I didn't pull it out of the basket for me.

I can't decide if I've grown up, given up, or stopped caring.