I love to do laundry. From the dirty, smelly start to the folded, April fresh end. I don't want you anywhere near the laundry room when I am working this magic. I want to organize, separate, fold....ALONE!!
I know there are many women and/or men out there that are crazy, crazy, crazy about a certain type of housework. And they alone want, nay, need to perform these chores alone thus they go completely beserk! I know I am not a freak. There are those of us that love to vacuum, or wash dishes or make beds or dust (wait, those people are freaks).
My husband can not understand this adorable personality trait of mine. And really, why would any husband complain? I could see complaining if I never did the laundry. Why does he horn in on the one thing I'd like to do alone. Well, there is maybe another thing, and he horns in on that too. Hey!!! I'm talking about watching my soap. Jeez...
Back to my laundry. I have my little system (it has now gone beyond separating reds and whites, we can thank Dateline for yet another wackazoid documentary that's freaked me out). But, even when my husband tries to get it right, invariably he fails. Like when underwear ends up being washed with the towels (crap, just gave that one away...it is a valid concern, look it up!)
"I'm just trying to lighten your load," he giggles at his laundry humor. Sad, I know.
"Yeah, well, how 'bout if I go to the garage and organize your tools?" He would hate that. Aren't you impressed that I even know where his tools are?
"That would be awesome! I'd love to watch you separate my nuts," he winks.
I got nothin'.