Sniffing Dirty Laundry and Picking Noses at Stoplights

Last night as I was searching for my pajama top, I realized that it had been tossed on top of a pile of dirty laundry in my closet.

I wasn't sure if the tank top had taken on the general odor of the surroundings in its time on top of this pile, so I did what any other woman would do.

"Are you sniffing that," my husband asked, incredulously, as he walked into the bathroom.

Why yes, I was. Didn't everyone do that?

"I just took it out of the dirty laundry and I wanted to make sure it didn't smell," I explained.

"You were, uh, sniffing the dirty laundry."

"Whatever, Chris," I said. "It's not like I was sniffing my underwear," (which, I have to admit, I am not above doing if there were no clean options and I need to assess what exactly could be worn, inside out, a second time. You can't just "tell" these things from looking. God gave us our olfactory senses for a reason).

"You're gross," he said.

I would beg to differ, however, as I am not the one who picks his nose at stoplights. This was a subject that was especially sensitive when we had out of state license plates. I could just hear the conversations from inside the passing vehicles. "Look at the dork from Iowa picking his nose, honey," the wife would shriek, then hilarity would ensue in the car as they mocked us from the confines of their minivan.

"No one notices," he stated with confidence. I would tend to disagree. I mean, I notice when people are picking their noses in their cars. And when I notice this with my husband I make a big deal in pointing it out, just to prove my point.

There was no odor on my pajama top last night, therefore I put it on and crawled into my bed. I can't even say that, had there been a slight odor, that I wouldn't have put it on anyway.

Such is life in our house.