While I maintain that in matters of debate between my husband and me, I am right at least 75% of the time, I have to admit that every once in a while, he is correct and I am, gulp, wrong. This happens to be the case when it comes to unpacking after a trip. My (old) way would be to dump the suitcase at the foot of my bed, pour myself a cup of whatever I can find in the kitchen, and flop on the couch to catch up on all the catalogs that arrived while we were away. Usually, I would get around to unpacking a few days later, once my damp bathing suits had really had a chance to get moldy in there, and the stains from the leaking moisturizer had irreversibly set into my cashmere sweater. Meanwhile, my husband would immediately set about unpacking his suitcase the minute we walked in the door. I found this behavior to be irritatingly fastidious on his part, and would usually heckle him ("Hey, OCD Boy, get me another beer!") while catching up on whatever reality TV we had DVRed and ordering whatever take-out I had missed most while we were away.
However, this past month, I have traveled to California, to Boston, to California (again) and, you guessed it, we are headed back to Boston tonight (for a quick visit, and to pick up our pup). For the most part, I only had a couple of days between these trips to unpack and repack (I only have so many cute outfits), and I didn't want to start the new year with a mountain of dirty laundry to tackle. In order to make this all work, I found myself taking my suitcase directly over to the washing machine, and unpacking the dirty clothes right into it. Dirty delicates went straight into the dry-cleaning hamper, and clean clothes I folded and stacked to be put away in a drawer (or repacked in the same suitcase).
Incredibly, I was able to keep the laundry from piling up, all my clothes emerged unscathed (and un-mildewed), and packing was a breeze. Turns out that persnickety husband of mine was right all along. Just don't tell him I said that.
11 minutes ago