grunt translation #1: laundry

I’m not so sure what’s hard about doing the laundry. I’m not talking about the folding part, that’s a royal pain. But the actual cleaning of the clothes – inserting into the washer, transferring to the dryer, and retrieving from said dryer – is not difficult. Especially if there’s a laundry chute involved. Then there’s no worrying about transferring the smell of baseball on a Saturday morning or sweaty just-from-the-gym feet to the relatively clean clothes you’re wearing.

So, if laundry is not difficult, why do some men have a mental block about doing it (and by some men I mean the one with whom I live)? These days Big D is hanging out at home with miss poopypants and little d full time while I bring home the hopefully non-swine flu-infested bacon. The offers to do laundry abound, but the follow-through is less than stellar. My repertoire has ranged from nagging to cajoling to bribing to offering sexual favors, and at most I’ll get a load or two if I’m lucky. Piles, nay, mountains, of clean laundry have lived in my living room for 2-3 weeks until I got fed up with digging for little d’s socks for fifteen minutes.

This morning, while I was explaining that I had to put on crusty, damp, kinda funky pants that had been laying on the bathroom floor (waiting patiently to get thrown down the chute) to take little d to the bus stop because all of my other pants were dirty (waiting patiently downstairs to get thrown into the wash), I realized that Big D doesn’t really care. He has probably a month’s worth of boxers and undershirts before he gets worried. I, on the other hand, have been a bit more frugal with my clothing choices and only have at most two weeks’ worth of reliable clothes that fit me before I need to do the wash. Of course I’m going to get frustrated before he will, he has a bigger supply and, frankly, lower demand. The houseladies on the playground don’t know that he’s worn the same shorts three days in a row.

So, because laundry really *isn’t* that difficult, I continue to chip away at the laundry mountain when I take a break on the days I work from home. And secretly plot to hide the clean boxers and feign ignorance when he’s running low. Baby, I love you, but if you can tell me what you think I want to hear and never follow through because you know I’ll just get annoyed and do it myself, I can be the queen of passive-aggressiveness. Sorry, but I need clean underwear to go to work tomorrow.

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3 responses to “grunt translation #1: laundry

  1. I suppose I’m not doing anyone any favors by stating that I wash all the laundry in the house…. even before I was unemployed.

  2. Helps me out considerably! 🙂

  3. So, here’s the passive-aggressive plan: bring a few loads over to my house (for you, little d and miss poopypants) and we’ll get them all clean and folded. That way, you can be ahead for a couple weeks and the only laundry that isn’t getting done is Big D’s. Then all we have to do is count how many days it takes before he realizes what’s going on! 😛

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