When I was a kid, my stepsister would get into huge fights with my mom. About laundry. Mom always buttoned shirts she hung on hangers; my sister wanted to just reach into the closet and grab a shirt. She didn’t want to have to unbutton anything. She thought mom was buttoning things to spite her. I didn’t like the way mom did laundry either, although my complaint was with the way she matched socks. She put any two socks together that were the same color and I would end up with mismatched socks on my feet and feel out of sorts all day.
I didn’t get into fights about it though. I didn’t have the fear that maybe she was messing up my laundry because she wasn’t my real mom. That wasn’t why my mom buttoned my sister’s shirts, of course. And I never understood why my sister would get so upset. Either did my mom, because my mom is as oblivious to that kind of thing as she was about matching socks. I didn’t understand it because I was a kid, and to me, we were just a family.
Weird how such little things from when you were a kid affect you later. I still have a thing about matching socks. If I have even a suspicion that the socks don’t quite match, I put them aside and look for better candidates. Which is probably why I have a huge pile of unmatched socks that never seems to get any smaller. And all the shirts hanging in my closet are unbuttoned. My coat closet is filled with unzipped hoodies. Just about every time I open the door, I have to rehang one that’s fallen. And I do. But I still don’t zip them.