There is No Try
Well, you’ve got to give the boy credit. After 13 years of domestic bliss, his record is unbroken. It’s a gift, really–well, it would be if this was baseball. But it’s not, it’s Laundry. And there are rules.
I’m in charge of Laundry around here. Sometimes, I’m so in charge of the laundry that it is all washed, dried, folded and… *gasp* put in its proper place. I’ll admit that it’s rare, but it does happen. Most weeks, my the laundry is clean, half folded, sitting on the futon waiting to be worn so it can go into the dirty pile again. It’s an effective system in its own disorderly way–and sort of efficient if you count not having to climb the stairs to put piles of folded clothes away or the ability to change in your living room! I mean, I try… ok?
However, there are those weeks when I’m so far behind that the load in the washer has been washed three times and the men in my life are scrounging around for underwear and socks. That was this week. And that’s when the trouble typically starts. Because, in order to wash a load of whites, the load in the washer has to make it into the dryer. And the clothes in the washer typically are MY clothes.
In 13 years, IZ has always succeeded in shrinking something. I mean it, he has never failed. First time it was a pair of navy chinos that ended up being three inches too short. They were brand new. Brand new. They also ended up in the goodwill pile. I ended up buying only TALL pants. Problem solved… right? Oh no… Can I tell you how disturbing it is to put on underwear that has shrunk. I’m sorry, but I’m not buying JUMBO sized panties… NO WAY. My solution… I banned him from laundry duty. And that’s how I ended up being in charge. He is the master of all electronic appliances in this household… mostly because I only have to think about using them and they break. (Not to mention I still don’t know how to change the vacuum cleaner canister.) But the washer and dryer are MINE. Rule #1:They are “Look, but don’t Touch” appliances. Rule #2: Under no circumstances is anyone to use them but ME.
So, you can imagine my terror when walking into the house and seeing the futon piled high with white clothes I haven’t washed. OMG. What did I leave in the washer???? My eyes narrow… glinty look….
“What have you been doing?”
“Look,” he says in this really testy if you had just done your job this wouldn’t be happening tone of voice, “I only washed mine and the kid’s whites. I didn’t touch anything of yours.”
“Then what’s that I hear in the dryer?”
“Well, the stuff in the washer needed to dry… Look, I even pulled out your t-shirt…”
Yeah. He pulled out the t-shirt that is two-sizes too large that needs a hot dryer to even come close to fitting. Besides I only wear that t-shirt to sleep in. He missed the other two shirts that I actually wear OUT of the house.
I’ll omit the expletive laden conversation that followed. It wasn’t pretty. At one point small child came bolting down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear, “I heard everything, I want to see what he shrunk!” It’s always a banner moment when he’s not the one in trouble.
It ended with my saying… “‘Do, or not do. There is no Try.’ In your case, NOT DO!” His response? “I think you are beautiful.”
