Men and Laundry

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Men and Laundry

 Photo courtesy of Davitydave

I’ve recently started working so Ben stays at home like my house husband (except we don’t have a house out here and he’s not my husband, but you get my point). Don’t confuse his not working to being lazy. He does work except the work he does is unpaid and purely voluntary – helping his parents build their country property. And as he is the master of his own day, he has more free time to complete chores like cooking dinner and doing the laundry.

The other day I sent him off with a load of laundry that filled the boot of our car. I didn’t have the time to sort the clothes from whites and blacks because I had to head to work, but as a well trained man in all things domestic, I was confident in his ability to produce a good outcome. I have left him with a washing machine, detergent and clothes before and he’s always figured out what to do!

When I arrived back home, I was pleased to peel off my stiff corporate dress and get into a clean pair of track suit pants and hoodie. Granted he forgot to check the pockets of all the clothes and so there were tissue residue on some of the clothing, but other than that, his little act of domesticity made my day.

That was until I went searching for an outfit to put together to wear to work the next day and I pulled out a black, cotton/rayon off-the-shoulder dress that he had also thrown into the wash with all the the other plebian clothes. After years of reading clothing labels, I knew without a doubt that the tag would say ‘hand wash only’. I was hyperventilating so much Ben thought I’d just developed asthma.

After catching my breath and counting to three, I issued Ben with some advice (trying to keep the snarl out of my voice and off my face): “If you ever come across a piece of clothing that I don’t lounge around in at home, please just leave it because I’ll hand wash them later!” So Ben got away with this mistake relatively unscathed and lucky that I didn’t castrate him.

That’s the good thing about a boyfriend who understands my crazy wacky illogical love for my clothes. He knows now not to do me any favours and just leave my ‘going-out’ clothes aside. Because he knows that if he makes the same mistake twice, I will resort to violence 🙂

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