Johnny and I are at war with our laundry. Yesterday I was cleaning out Johnny's closet and I found a T-shirt that was advertising some sort of car wash. I'm sure, in it's glory days, this was a great shirt…however it is now faded and has arm pit holes.
I asked Johnny, "Baby can we throw this away?"
He looked at me like I had asked him to give up all of his worldly possessions and join a monastery. So I guess the Safeway Cleaning shirt stays.
Johnny's laundry is sneaky stuff. I'll have it all contained and happy in its little hamper when I leave for work in the morning. I come home and it looks like a laundry bomb has gone off. I know there is a hardwood floor under there somewhere. I'm convinced that his laundry gets hungry and eats my laundry, because I used to have socks...not so much any more.
The dirty clothes (some of which I am convinced are clean) not only terrorize the bedroom, but they have been known to ambush the living room and kitchen. My favorite is when Johnny comes home from the gym and puts his sweaty, smelly shirts and shoes on the furniture. It's like a shrine of stinky manliness right there in the middle of the living room.
How am I supposed to keep this clean? I've tried various reward systems…like if you stop throwing your dirty underwear in the middle of the hallway you can pick out the movie we watch tonight. I've tried bribing him with Mexican food, sexual favors, and money.
This does not work.
So my battle with the laundry continues…he's worth it though.
No comments:
Post a Comment