Reading Intentions, the Baggage We ALL Carry, and How Washing Machines Save the World.

In light of recent blog discourse, I thought a short story might be good for some perspective. Settle in and take a short ride with me. Grab a beverage.
It’s hard to read people’s emotions. We often jump to conclusions, become offended, when no harm was intended. Sometimes we are right, and a lot of the time we’re wrong. It’s even more difficult to read people’s intentions in the written word, over the internet. We can’t see their faces, gauge sarcasm, or see into THEIR room — maybe someone called or rang the doorbell, and that’s why they gave a short snippy response. With age comes wisdom, and we learn 99% of out-of-left-field offensive comments have NOTHING to do with our actions. It’s almost always………, something else.
Add to this problem, our own personal baggage. Our personal history creates a prism, through which we view the world. For instance, as a teenager, I was astonished Mexican gas stations did not have toilet paper……… just as the Mexican gas station attendant presumed I was a spoiled little American. Ahhhh, yes, it’s all about perspective.
When I first met Big T, he was itchy and jumpy, nervous as a cat. It was obvious, but he only did it around me. In a business meeting, he was cool as a cucumber. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made men nervous before, but this was not normal “guy stuff”. He constantly tried to read my emotions to see if I was “about to be” angry. It was weird, and it takes a LOT to make me angry. He was fishing for my emotions and I wondered why.
I quickly learned his ex-wife was an artist, high strung, overly emotional. On top of that, he had 4 daughters and WAY too much estrogen in his house. I realized he was an incredibly successful man, at the pinnacle of his career…… and had been walking on eggshells for about 2 decades (we all know what that feels like). He had been conditioned to react to her, to try to get ahead of the blow-up, and control it as much as possible. He needed deprogramming. He needed to calm down.
On my side of the “personal baggage” fence, I came from a highly male-dominated business world. Most women my age expected their husbands to read their minds when they were angry. They would sulk, slam cabinets, say the word “fine”, and expect their husband’s to know what was wrong, apologize for hurt feelings, and all would be right with the world. I was exactly the opposite. If I was angry, I told the person, asap. In less than five minutes, I would explain my position, extract an apology or identify the miscommunication, we would agree to re-order our world…….. and move on. An hour later, I couldn’t tell you the subject of the scuffle. Thus, my personality, when dealing with controversy and confrontation, was about 180 degrees opposite of Big T’s ex-wife, ….. and it took him some time to get used to it.
The first time he came to my house, Big T tried to open the back door with a whole platter of my grandmother’s crystal. It’s a big back door and rather tricky. He dropped the platter and broke a few stems. He overreacted, and it looked like he was convinced I would break up with him. “Are you kidding me?”, I said, “There’s no glass in this house which is more important than the people living in the house.” He looked at me like I had three heads. He was confused. And there it is again…. perspective.
On our first trip together, we went to Aunt Helen’s for Thanksgiving. When he arrived, he assumed Aunt Helen lived across town, at most, an hour away. No, Aunt Helen lived in Illinois, nine hours away. Big T worked himself into a frenzy. Putting him into the car was like stuffing a cat in a bag, as though he thought he would not survive the trip. He was practically convinced we would divorce before we would be married. NINE hours in the car???!!!!! Of course, no one in the northeast drives anywhere longer than about 6 hours — because nothing exists outside of the northeast. Road trips, in his personal history, with his ex + her emotions + four daughters + baggage, were an exhausting nightmare. He had reason to be apprehensive.
On my side, road trips were a blast, half the fun was getting there. 14 hours to Universal, sure. 9 hours to Chicago, piece of cake. 5 hours to New Orleans, bop down for a weekend. Want to go to Canada, say the word and we’re gone. Mexico, pack some shorts are we’re ready for Cerveza and chicken tacos. Pack a cooler, make some ham sandwiches and off we go. Seriously, going to the grocery store is often an adventure for me.
Our viewpoints, our baggage, our prisms from which we viewed the world, were completely different and the two of us had to get on the same page. He kept waiting for me to get mad, and I wasn’t mad about anything. He was befuddled, but still convinced, since I was a redhead, whenever I did “blow”, it would be epic. Our differences culminated over a laundry incident. The laundry PI$$ED me off, and I blew. Perfect timing.
By the time Big T bought the beach cottage, we were an item. The cottage had laundry in the basement. Since I own a B&B, I was used to doing 80 loads of laundry a week. As such, it’s not a stretch to say, I am certified “expert witness”, put me on a stand in a jury trial, when it comes to laundry. I am a mad scientist of laundry, often inventing my own chemical solutions to remove various stains, etc. Yes, Laundry is my wheelhouse, and his daughters often brought contractor bags of laundry for me to mend, wash, iron, and “fix”. Poor babies, they needed help, and a re-education on how to run a household. Because of my prism, my baggage, I am completely unreasonable and overly demanding, when it comes to laundry for a household.
The stage was set.
So, I was in the basement one day, and the washing machine pi$$ed me off. I can’t tell you what happened, or what the washing machine did to personally offend me. Yet, I came out of the basement with a full head of steam. I was a veritable dust cloud of rage. It was epic, alright. I was cursing, four-letter words streaming – odd for me too, because of southern lady protocol and composure. I was grumbling and growling between the cursing, frowning an scowling at the same time.

Big T must have heard my foul mouth, and it triggered him. The moment had arrived, he thought, she’s mad. This is it. By the time I reached the basement door, he flung the door open and scared the heck out of me. I was embarrassed, but the look on his face was sheer fright. He was wide-eyed and backing up. He began to apologize and assured me we could buy a new washing machine this afternoon (purchased new and cheap but it came with the house)….. a dryer too, if that would make me happy. He was talking fast.
Huh?, I thought. And I looked at him like he had three heads……. Again, there’s that perspective thing……
We settled into the kitchen peninsula to talk. His body language was fixed, he was ready for a fight. He was still anxious and I was still mad at the washing machine. I explained, I didn’t want a new washing machine. My anger had nothing whatsoever to do with him, I was mad at a piece of equipment. If he loved me, I wanted him to be MAD, just as mad, if not MORE mad, at the washing machine which pi$$ed me off. I wanted him to be on my side, and that meant more to me than anything. I wanted him to yell at the washing machine, kick the washing machine, defend me from the washing machine. I fu$king hated that washing machine at that particular moment in time. I was ranting…… at a machine. Not at him.

Then, as I am prone to do, I flipped a switch. I dropped several octaves/decibels and explained it would be fiscally irresponsible to buy a new washing machine. Nah, I dismissed it. And just like that, I wasn’t mad anymore. Big T was amazed…… like he had just seen the Grand Canyon for the first time.
The realization creeped over his face. He was thinking. She’s not mad at me. It’s not my fault. She really is just mad at the washing machine. It had nothing to do with him. As long as we kept that house, we referred to the washing machine as “the fucking washing machine”……. and we laughed about it. Months later, me calling Big T, “Hi honey, whatcha doin’?” From Big T, “Oh, I’m down in the basement talking to the fucking washing machine.” Haaaaa – ha.

The laundry incident was groundbreaking in our relationship. Over the afternoon and into the next day, Big T wouldn’t let it go. It kept worming around in his head. He slowly began to realize, a LOT of what happened over the last two decades, with his ex, with his children, had nothing to do with him. He was desperately trying to maintain order within the chaos. Rationally, he knew it all along, but the reality had not hit him…. until we BOTH got mad at the washing machine. From then on, we were on the same side, the same “team” heretofore unknown to him. It was us against the world.
Perspective…… it is a glorious thing.
Within this blog, we are all united in a common cause. We’re on the same side, the same team. It’s us against our political and sometimes moral opposition. Our loyalty is the same – to our country and each other. We may fight, bicker, and differ on occasion. There’s no couple on the planet who agrees 100% of the time. After all, when Big T and I go out to eat, we don’t order the same entre….. but he will give me a bite…. he’s so sweet.
But know this, for certain, if an outside force looks to harm us, offends you/me/anyone here, we will defend each other. It’s natural instinct. If it gets serious, in fact, I WILL DRAW MY SWORD to slay, spindle, mutilate, the fucking washing machine if necessary….. cuz we’re on the same side. But harking back to our perspective……, sometimes, it’s really just a washing machine.
Just remember……… we’re on the same side.
End.