Sorry. Not Sorry.

My cleaning technique is similar to police raid.  I run through the house with garbage bags tossing random shit that we no longer have a use for.  There are times I am a bit thoughtful in the act, but that is pretty rare.   A few months ago, my spouse accused me of throwing away a metal box that contained some personal items.  I could not confirm or deny the act, but was pretty sure it was an issue of him not looking thoroughly.  I found the box that he hasn’t opened in twenty years and made a note to never discard it.  It has a car part in it, some change, a necklace and some other crap that apparently means something to him.  Duly noted.

Last night, he told me that he was looking for something in the trunk of my car and almost threw some things away. Okay, my car, my trunk, so I decide what stays.  Then he went on a long rant about the time I discarded his sweaters…..from the late 80s early 90s era.    Why can’t he simply be grateful?   These were the textured sweaters that looked like a macrame project gone wrong that Brian insisted on wearing well into the 21st century.  I tolerated the fashion statement until one night we were out with friends and very antiquated man was wearing a similar style.  At that moment, I knew I needed to save my husband from being a hostage to his bad fashion sense.

I slowly discarded the monsters that had held my husband prisoner for so long.   Once he noticed, he was angry and hurt that I would do such a thing.  Where is the gratitude for releasing him from his heinous choices?  And years later, he is still working through his resentment.  I know, it really isn’t about the sweaters but more about my discarding something that belonged to him.  I got it.   I’m sorry, but not really that sorry.   It was similar to nails on a chalkboard seeing him trapped in those poor excuses of a sweater.

Someday Brian’s perception might shift. He might realize that my efforts were in his best interest.  Okay, who am I kidding?  They were in my best interest.   Sure, I could have made it look like our home was robbed, but who would believe that the only thing stolen were hideous sweaters?    I own it.  My name is Allison and I threw away my husband’s sweaters.   So very sorry…..NOT.

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