Domestication

Ok, I have always been somewhat of a stickler about my laundry. Not as much the separation of white and dark clothes or the preference of a particular brand of detergent or anything petty. Mainly I just want it done. When I want to wear it I want it clean. Oh, and I hate wrinkles. It may not sound too manly, but I've been ironing my clothes since the eighth grade. But that's another story.

When I was single and washerless I went to the laundrymat. Or "coin operated laundry" as it is known technically. I hated it. Sharing a washing machine with strangers is weird, kind of like eating off the same plate. Sharing a pair of shoes. But it was a necessary evil. Gotta have clean clothes. I had a roommate once that took my aversion to another level. If his clean clothes hit the floor during folding, they went back to the dirty pile. I wasn't that bad, but I jumped for joy when I lived in an apartment with a washer and dryer . Another roommate got a matching set that was going to be thrown away after a house fire. Moving on up! Of course we smelled like we had been on a camping trip for a few weeks, but the clothes were clean. We spray painted each with tiger stripes and named them Fred and Barney. Getting off track again with college day tales.

After I was married I once again had to go to the laundrymat. Buying a washer and dryer became a priority, and soon I was washing at home. Nothing says domestic bliss like sitting for a couple of hours at the "Wash-o-Rama". But I quickly learned which one of the newlyweds was the domestic goddess. Me. I knew my bride didn't cook, but I didn't know that she suffered from a laundry disorder as well. She was a "piler". A "separator". A "wear them at least twice washing machine operator". She graciously offered to do my laundry, but I had to decline. I didn't own a wardrobe (yes men have a wardrobe even if it consists of t shirts and faded jeans) large enough to wait for each color to accumulate into a washable volume. No problem, I was used to doing my own laundry anyway and no need for another argument. She says that I get lucky washing clothes and I don't know what I'm doing anyway. "Stay away from mine" She says.

Well we continued doing separate laundry for years. I became accustomed to moving the ironing board away from the dryer so she could tumble her clothes while I ironed mine. That may have been a low blow. Then my daughter came along. Another laundry delimma. Who would wash her clothes? PJ of course jumped in and started added their clothes together. I thought this was a good idea because it would double the speed of building the mini laundry mountains. This worked okay until Taylor began school. A schedule that held you accountable for clean laundry. So to avoid an argument I began doing my daughter's laundry with mine. It was really no trouble, and as long as I was ironing, I could iron hers too. Problem solved.

Before I go any further let me state that I know I am a sucker, and yes, my wife is smarter than me. When she says "Your cooking just tastes better than mine", I cook again. When she asks Taylor if she has any clothes to throw in with hers, she knows she doesn't. She is thanking me in her own way. This is all part of being married. I know that she lives in fear of the dark sock or the red shirt looming on the bottom of the pile. The one that she claims will get me one day and ruin my clothes, or worse yet, Taylor's clothes. But it hasn't happened yet (knock wood). Then she calls me from work this morning. Taylor is on spring break and I am working from home. We are planning to go out of town for a few days and we packed last night.

"Would you do me a favor?" she asks.

"Sure, what?" I offer ready to get the vacation in progress.

"Are you washing anymore clothes? I have this one pair of blue jeans that I forgot to wash and I ....never mind...I wont need them...I...."

"Yes honey, I will wash them". Had to cut her off. I know she hates to ask this given the history of our laundry marriage. So as I dig through the separated mini mountains of her laundry looking for this "one pair of jeans" that she is in need of for the trip I wonder if I have a new job.