Your Room Is A Laundry Basket, Why Did I Even Buy You One?

dirty dorm room

by Mom | The Minor

Your room is a laundry basket, look at it, clothes all over the floor.

I don’t understand it. I just don’t. You come home, you say you’d like a laundry basket to carry your clothes from your room to the washers. So what do I do? I buy you a laundry basket. I bought one because you told me you wanted one. Because I’m your mother. And now, I come here and I see this. Clothes everywhere.

Do you even have the laundry basket I bought you? You do? Where is it? I don’t see it. Maybe it’s hiding under all these piles of clothes you’ve made.

It’s like a maze in here. Such a mess.

Please tell me you don’t bring girls in here at night. Do you? Just tell me you don’t let girls walk through this mess. If your grandmother saw this she’d have a fit, you know that? She’d have a fit right here.

You’re just like your father.

I’m not mad. All I’m saying is that if you didn’t want a laundry basket, you shouldn’t have asked me to buy you one. Do you think I like going 15 minutes out of my way to Bed, Bath & Beyond just to buy you something you won’t use? I have things to do.

I know you think I just sit around all day waiting for you to ask me to buy you a laundry basket or extra hangers or whatever else I buy you that you don’t ever use. But I’m busy. Your brother’s play rehearsals just started and I’m driving him back and forth to the high school every day. Back and forth, back and forth. And the other day he asked me to drive his friends home, too, and of course they live all the way down Mill Road. Then I’m home cooking dinner, putting food on the table. And do I ever get a thank you? No. And I don’t need one. But every once in a while it’d go a long way.

And don’t think I don’t know what you’re going to do. I know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to pick up these clothes and then as soon as I’m out the door they’ll be back on the floor. All your cross country t-shirts back on the floor. And all of you’re little friends will come over and you’ll tell them how crazy I am. You’ll tell them all about your crazy mother, Judy.

“She was really cramping my style making me use the things she bought for me because she cares about me and loves me so much.” They’ll hate me for it because you’ll make them hate me.

Every time it’s the same.

Do I want to be the bad guy? Of course not. Do you think I just sit around wondering how to make my son miserable? No. But if I have to do it I will. God knows your father won’t do it. Where is he?

No, don’t pick up the clothes now. We have lunch plans with the Hochmans. I tell you these things and it’s like you don’t even listen. I told you three times yesterday. Don’t give me that blank stare like I’m the one who forgot to tell you about lunch with the Hochmans.

Do you use the planner I bought you? I bet it’s still in the Staples bag. It is, isn’t it?

One of these days you’re going to wake up and realize that things cost money. That planner cost money. Your laundry basket cost money. If you think you’re going to get through life wasting every dollar you make you’ll end up very unhappy. And wasting my money isn’t going to fly either.

Just put on one of your button-downs and let’s go. The least you could do is hurry. We’re already late.

Thank you. Thank you, my Grace, for finally getting up and doing something.

See what happens when you listen? We make progress. We clean rooms. We use our laundry basket.

Now go find your father and we can go to lunch.

Hey, look at me. I love you. We have to be hard as a parent sometimes, you’ll learn that.

Now go find your father.

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