So I'm trying this new thing where I'm weaning away from using the microwave so much. We have this huge dinosaur that Scott got from Montgomery Ward before we got married, when burrito's mama was only two years old. It still works great. But after the big microwave regulation committe stuff last year, I figure if this one goes out we will be so bummed with the newer suckier versions coming out in the future that I may as well learn to live without one. So I picked up a snappy little red tea kettle yesterday, and I've got a tiny new saucepan I can melt butter in, and basically I'm retraining my brain to stop automatically sending me over to the microwave for every little bitty thing.
It's really hard though, and reminding me of the bathroom towel swap Scott and I did a few months ago. For some reason, our hand towels on either side of the bathroom sink have never been on the sides of the counter we actually use, and I finally couldn't take the annoyance of him flinging water off his hands all over my stuff (including my phone) while he was reaching across for his towel. Twenty years of that habit is really hard to break. It's been nearly three months and I'm still automatically stepping over to the place where 'my' towel used to be after I brush my teeth.
No, we don't share towels. He's gross. I'm a germ phobe and he's not. I'm very thorough and he's not. I'm apt to notice microscopic spots and hairs and whatever and he's the kind of person who thinks the act of swishing your hands a little around some running water magically removes everything he's touched in the yard and the basement and his shed, so I assume his hand towel collects the leftover oils and dirt and gasoline and a variety of chemicals, not to mention all the germs he could have picked up at work or is lurking around the sometimes mouse infested junk heap he still drives around because it's 'cheaper'.
Speaking of cheaper, we've been comparing his mom to my dad. He said he drove his mom all over creation yesterday looking for a piece of medical equipment (to put it politely) she needs at home while she is still recovering from joint replacement because she flat refused to pay $26 after she was told Medicare wouldn't pay for it, and everywhere else they went after that the price just got higher. Too bad she didn't keep the one she had from the last surgery which is odd when we remember she kept a humidifier we gave her years ago and asked if we wanted it back after it had sat molding in a closet for a long time. She also won't pay for something that will assist her into the tub, but since it's $200 it's a ridiculous investement, and no amount of logical discussion about preventing further injury and falling will change her mind. Of course I was cracking up the whole time because #oldpeopleprobs, we've been around both sets of parents for so long that I've developed several hypotheses to explain the reasoning behind my dad's obsessiveness as well, like saving every single bit of cotton that comes out of a new jar, or washing out and saving jars and bottles until there is such a pile that he begs us to take them and use them. A couple of years ago he stored up 20 pounds of brown sugar while simultaneously reminding us all the rapture would be happening very soon. The latest one my sister told me yesterday was that he asked her to come over and clean something out of the fridge my mom had in there. Well, my mom died five years ago, and lived in a nursing home for nearly five years before that, so what, ten years whatever this was sat in the fridge? Yeah, that's a psychological journey I hope to never go on.