I wondered if my wife had a kind of Joan Crawford thing going on when she told me, about six years into our marriage, that she could not live with the idea of my taking my shirts to a professional laundry.
"What is it?" I asked. "The plastic bags? We can tie them in knots so the kids can never play with them."
"It's not the plastic bags!" Kristine looked so miserable. I decided to cheer her up with humor.
"The wire hangers?" I asked, pointedly.
Since this was only a few years after "Mommy Dearest," she got the joke. It didn't cheer her up at all. "You think I'm some kind of monster."