Unbelievable tales from reddit.

handpicked from the staff at tippin ice.

Credit to: Other_Football72

posted to: r/AmIOverreacting

Something happened recently that brought back an old memory I thought I was over. I made a post about my wife dumping my sourdough starter, Gerald, despite very clear instructions not to touch him. That whole situation stirred up something from 20 years ago that I never really processed, and now I’m wondering if I was the problem then too.

Backstory: around 2003 or so, I went to Amsterdam with a girlfriend at the time. While I was there, I bought this red AJAX cap. I didn’t care about the soccer team, it just looked cool and, more importantly, it fit my head perfectly. And that’s not a small thing. I’ve got a weird head and most hats either pinch or slide off like I’m wearing a cereal bowl.

This was my go-to hat for years. Comfortable, looked good, and yeah, it happened to be from a trip with an ex. But I wasn’t clinging to it for sentimental reasons. I liked the hat. And for context, this was well before MAGA red caps existed. This was just a European soccer hat from 15 years before Trump turned red hats into a political thing.

Anyway, I get married a few years later. My wife has never liked hearing about the ex. I’ve always tried to be respectful about that, but sometimes reality shows up. Like when the ex emailed me once, years into our marriage, asking for a referral to a friend of mine in finance. I answered politely, told my wife about it, and she acted like I’d flown to Amsterdam again to restart the whole relationship. She brought it up for years. Still does, actually. I mean, I don't know, she might have been looking to check in on me, I wasn't interested and didn't do anything but give a polite email back.

Now back to the hat.

At some point, my wife decides to wash it. Didn’t ask. Just did it. I told her not to do that again, it was starting to fray. A few weeks later, she does it again. Now it’s getting real beat up. I told her directly, clearly, do not wash this hat again. It’s hanging on by threads.

Then she does it again.

I find it in the laundry. Torn at the seams, color faded, basically unwearable. I held it up, looked at her, and then just ripped it in half down the middle. Didn’t say a word. Just split it like a phone book and tossed the pieces on the table.

She called me unhinged. Said I was out of control. Said I destroyed it just to make a point. Maybe I did. I was fucking pissed. But it felt like she didn’t care what I said. She’d already decided that this hat represented something she hated, and she wasn’t going to let it survive.

And now, after the sourdough, it all kind of came rushing back. The pattern. The control. The disrespect. I’m not saying I’m a saint. I know it’s just a hat. But sometimes it’s not about the object. It’s about being listened to. Or not.

So yeah. AIO?

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