Daryl and I had a great conversation this morning about laundry. It wasn't actually a conversation; an argument, maybe? No, no tempers got heated. Apparently is was a conversation on his part and hurtling insults on my part.

I found it odd that he put one of his newly laundered shirts in my drawer, thinking it was mine. But why are you putting my clothes away anyway? I asked him. Because not all of us just leave clean laundry out without putting it way for other people, he replied.

To which I questioned: So you think I should do all the laundry and then put it away for you, too? When 85% of the clothes that were washed are yours?

So we had a great "discussion" about who does how much laundry. He thought I did about 89%, I think I do more like 99%. In any case, it's a high number. He felt insulted and I felt indifferent.

After which he went off to an appointment and I kissed him at the door and went and made myself a pot tea.

So I'm sitting here feeling kind of like a sociopath with my lack of remorse, shame, or guilt and my lack of empathy for my affronted husband.

But, boy, this is a good cup of tea.