Rick and I have been enjoying the afterglow of our date night in the city.
Until last night.
When we had a fight about laundry. Usually we fight about how to revamp social security but on this occasion, it was laundry.
For the most part, I handle the laundry in our household but when we came home from the pool club on Memorial Day, Rick threw the kids’ clothes into the washing machine. And then we had the following conversation…
“I had clothes in the pool bag. Please don’t throw them in the wash with the kids’ stuff,” I said.
“I didn’t,” he responded.
Well, it turns out one of my shirts did go in the wash and then it inadvertently got thrown in the dryer which I absolutely hate because anything I own that goes in the dryer somehow ends up the size of a 6 month onesie.
I figured as soon as my husband learned of this tragic error, he would offer up heartfelt apologies and we would just laugh over the incident because we are always so very tired and there is always so much laundry and mistakes are bound to happen.
But instead we had this conversation…
“Honey, why did you put my shirt in the wash?” (In all fairness, I might not have actually said, ‘Honey’ but clearly it was implied.)
“I didn’t,” he responds.
“But you did. It’s right here. I just found it in the dryer with the kids’ stuff.”
“I know I pulled out one of your shirts.”
“Yes, but there were two shirts.”
“Well, who on earth wears two shirts on a 90 degree day?!!”
My god, it’s like the man JUST met me for the first time. “I do. One’s a tank top and it goes underneath the other shirt,” I explain.
“I really don’t understand how I would ever know that. I’m never putting laundry in again. You can do it and nothing will get ruined.”
I definitely did not win that argument.
A few things to add…
1. Rick often folds the laundry.
2. I’m praying he’ll still keep doing that.
3. He also does A LOT of other stuff around the house.
4. Except for clean out the bathroom ceiling fan. That still needs to be done because it makes this really loud whirling sound.
5. Not that I’m pressuring him to get this done. I mean, whenever. It’s no big deal. He’s got a full time job for gosh sakes. And four kids. And a wife who wears two shirts at the same time. So no pressure. Just whenever he has a moment.