Pet Peeves: Continued

It’s been a long time between rants, this one especially. Last time I grumbled about this was three years ago. And while this irritant has raised its annoying head on and off, there are certain days when the peeve gets elevated to a different status: in ALL CAPS, bold, italicised and underlined for good measure!

Let me put it out there again- I LOATHE wet towels, unless they are on a drying rack, on a clothesline soaking up the sun or in the final stages of the spin cycle in a washing machine. And wouldn’t you know it, gifts of wet towels (big and small) keep appearing on my bed, TO’s table, the headboard, in the hamper with dirty clothes and everywhere else it’s not meant to be.

During the monsoons a bunched up wet cloth gives off a musty, annoying smell which refuses to exit your nasal passage once it’s wormed in. My days are filled with sightings of such cloths across the house, in different degrees of mustiness but ALWAYS wet.

Living with a teenager who idles at angsty, eye-rolls and being defensive; giving a feedback about where things belong and how to put them back after they’re used leads to even more pronounced eye-rolls and utterances ranging from the secular, “JEEZ!!! what’s the big deal” to the infinitely more religious, “JESUS CHRIST!! what’s the big deal”. Rarely does it lead to learning that finding wet towels carelessly thrown on top of books, stationery on a study table no less, makes an already-irked mother descend very rapidly to homicidal-maniac levels.

But in the spirit of forgiveness or the calming effect of a second cup of caffeine, I will resist picking up a cleaver (yes, I have one. German steel and scary-looking) and instead be passive aggressive till the message reaches home.