Being the fabulous stay-at-home mom that I am, I do some of the housework. Sometimes I can con RockStar Hubby to do some of it (such as the dishes or tidying…seriously, why can he tidy an entire house in 20 minutes, and it takes me three days?) and sometimes I actually have to get my hands dirty.
One of the jobs I loathe with a passion, is laundry. It’s not the carrying of clothes downstairs, it’s not the folding…it’s the putting away. I hate putting things away. I prefer my house to be an obstacle course and as I explain to RSH, it’s actually good to be constantly testing my reflexes as I grow older. Some do Soduko, I do housework avoidance.
My husband gets a very strange stain on his shirt. All the time. On every single shirt. And no, it doesn’t come off. It’s this weird oval stain, right in the middle of his chest, right at the xyphoid process (care to ask how I know where that is?). Every…single…shirt. I’ve purchased cute shirts for him to wear, with strict instructions not to wear them anywhere, except when we are on a date. At the moment, he has a hot brown v-neck that just defines him perfectly (physically and metaphorically), which he has managed to keep clean.
Tonight, I did laundry.
I pulled the brown shirt out of the basket, still warm from the dryer and flicked it into the air with my stealt-like fingers before I folded it.
And there it was.
mood: freakin’ exhausted. And I get to go on retreat tomorrow.
listening to: America’s Next Top Model in the background
reading: an absolutely horrible book about a woman who lives in Paris, but is married to grouchy, useless Englishman and they have two kids. Husband is pathetic father to said kids, treats woman badly. She gets an offer to write a book about the different histories of Paris and she packs up and leaves her family. What is wrong with her? She had to hire a nanny to take care of her kids while she galavants around for weeks at a time! I had to put the thing down because I was disgusted by her decision. Her kids are 3 and 5. What is wrong with you! I’m not finishing it. I don’t care how it ends.