Irrational Fears

Without getting too wordy on the background story, I'll just start with: My mom is down to one hand. Diabetes + cats that don't like the dog + fight + bite + emergency surgery = her left hand is out of commission for the time being.

On a seemingly unrelated note, the BF is terrified of glitter. Which is not an uncommon fear among men, as it turns out, but the BF has a great story to back up his distrust of the shiny stuff:

The BF once knew a guy who told a story about his wife bringing home a bunch of Christmas decorations one year. The decorations were all decked out with glitter which, over the course of the season, proceeded to come off the decorations and get everywhere. This guy had glitter on the furniture, in the carpet, on the dog, everywhere. After the holidays that year, after the offending decorations had long been put away, they continued to find glitter everywhere, no matter how many times they vacuumed. Naturally, this guy spent a fair amount of time sharing his pain with the other guys until the glitter curse became legend.

Then something tragic happened to the BF's friend. A few years after the Christmas ornament debacle, the guy's house burned down. As in to the ground. But his buddies tried to find a bright side and someone offered that at least he finally got rid of the glitter!

Which is when the BF's fear was justified. His friend said, "Yeah. You'd think, huh?" But, in truth, while he walked through the charred remains of his belongings with the insurance adjuster, he noticed that there was still glitter shimmering among the wreckage.

Which is why my mother washes my salon towels for me. Honestly, I think she does it to feel helpful, but she says this way "the boy" (aka the BF) won't freak out from the glitter in the washing machine.

Except Mom is down to one hand now. So last week she asked if I minded doing my own towels. (OMG MOM! You never have to wash my towels! And of course I can do them!) So I took them home and washed them.

Seeing as how the BF is the one who does most of our laundry (yes, he is awesome most of the time), you can imagine the girlish shrieks of terror that wafted through our home this weekend when he opened the washing machine and demanded to know why his washing machine was full of pink glitter.

I have no idea how it got in there (*putting on my best innocent look*).

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