I am so grumpy today.

Part of me is just looking for a fight.

It's all what's-her-face's fault.

I tried to buy a Moby wrap off of one of my Facebook swap groups. The most trustworthy one. The one where you are least likely to encounter flakes.

We decided to meet at an Old Navy.

I assumed she meant outside the doors at the bench.

She assumed in the middle of the parking lot.

You know, without actually telling me what her car looked like or anything.

Except in a Facebook message once she was there.

Which I did not receive until an hour and a half later, because I do not have a smartphone as she assumed.

And she got mad at me and I got mad at her and we are not speaking to each other and you better believe I'm finding a Moby wrap elsewhere!

And I've been mad ever since.

Right now I am mad because I just had to label a cardboard box that I use for a laundry basket, because I KNOW Grandma assumes that it was just a box. Not something that I actually USE and that's why it keeps reappearing by the washing machine.

And that made me mad because she has so many ideas about how her house should look and I can't keep up with them.

And how dare there be a purposeless, unflattened cardboard box in her house when it should have been thrown into the recycling bin AGES ago.

Oh, and that. Recycling. Don't even get me started.

Bottom line: Grandma has recycled for decades. Stephen and I have never been in the habit of recycling.

Anyway. And do you know why I have to use a stupid, labeled cardboard box for a laundry basket? Instead of the two laundry baskets we actually own?

Because Stephen uses one of them for his "half-dirty" pile by the bed. Which usually just becomes the dirty pile. Because for SOME STUPID REASON he can't walk the extra 7 feet to the *actual* laundry hamper and put his dirty laundry in there.

And the other laundry basket? It's in the garage. Holding stuff that I still haven't sorted through from the move.

Which, by the way, is another thing that gets under Grandma's skin: the perpetual state of the garage. Even though we have been slowly, slowly chipping away at the mountains of boxes and random crud in there. One day her patience is just going to reach its end and there is going to be a showdown.

And her latest thing? "I come into the house and every light is on!" Laugh laugh laugh. Like it's actually funny, but what she's actually saying is, "You're killing my electricity bill! I can't afford to keep living like this! Take better care of my house like the responsible firstborns you are! The only reason I decided to let you two live here is because I assumed you're responsible enough to take care of my house exactly the way I have for the last 20 years!"

Never mind that when we were first married, I was the one getting mad at Stephen for leaving all the lights on, because I grew up with my grandma getting mad at me for leaving all the lights on. Until Stephen convinced me that it wasn't necessary because he uses energy-efficient fluorescent light bulbs.

So now after 3 years of retraining my mind to not care about turning off lights, followed by 3 years of not caring about turning off lights, I'm in a house where there once again is a grandmother telling me to TURN OFF THE !@#$ LIGHTS. And still married to somebody who doesn't care about turning off the lights.

So I've started getting on HIS case about it, which of course will go over GREAT in a few months or weeks when he gets sick of my nagging.

And you know what is the awesomest thing about the @#$! lights? Several of them decided to go out at once. Like God is just putting an extra thumb in our backs to say, "YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO YOUR GRANDMOTHER AND TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THIS HOUSE!"

In the meantime, the stupid cold-gentle laundry (which is another rant for another day) got done and I gotta go pull out my labeled cardboard laundry basket.

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