Drama in the Laundry

This morning, we didn’t need to leave too early, just needed to head out of the house by 9:30. Before we did that, I needed to make breakfast/lunch to go/clean-up, laundry, get kids ready, put away futons, and a general pick-up. I really had enough time to do that by myself.

But today HRH decided he wanted to help. “I’ll hang up the laundry,” he says.

That’s great, but the washer isn’t finished yet. Yesterday’s clean laundry is still in the basket.

Let us ignore the obvious solution here, since that’s what HRH did. He fiddled on the computer until the washing machine finished.

“I’ll hang out the laundry,” he says again.

But the clean clothes are still in the basket.

“Please don’t dump the clean clothes on the floor,” I beseech of him, because that is usually what he does. Then the kids step all over them; they get spread about the four corners of the earth, and by the time I relocate them I am no longer sure if they are clean or not. (Some members of my family have not yet mastered the art of getting the dirty clothes into the hamper, thus increasing the confusion exponentially.)

Apparently, though, “please don’t throw the dirty clothes on the floor” when translated into Japanese actually means “please feel free to sit on your bee-hiney and do nothing.”

So I folded and put away the clean clothes, then I hung out the wet ones.

Just as well, I guess, since watching HRH’s laundry hanging process makes me want to pierce my eyeballs with hot yakitori sticks.

First, he gets his iPod. Then, he spends several minutes selecting a playlist. After carefully adjusting his earbuds, he steps outside. He gently retrieves an article of clothing from the basket, shakes the bejeezus out of it, and then hangs it in such a way that it will never, ever dry. Though it will possibly blow away in the wind. Meanwhile, he calls to me asking where the hangers are, where the clothespins are, etc. But he isn’t really asking (he can’t hear me over his depressing country music,) so I have to keep fetching things for him.

Since I am involved in the process anyway, today I figured I’d just do it my damself.

Later on I felt kind of bad, since he HAD offered to help and all. So I asked him to put away the futons. Which he did.

But not the pillows or blankets or anything else. He actually had to move them out of the way to put only the futons away…

What’s a girl to do, eh?


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