Monday, July 4, 2011

There Is A Reason Married Men Don’t Help Around The House and Yes, It Is Our Time To Declare Independence From The Tyranny of Others Directing Our Laundry.

Following just short of 30 years of marriage (yes, you have to add them all up), I’ve learned a few things (Wife 2.0 would say darn few).  Among the few things I’ve learned is that while wives say they want husbands to fold clothes, mow the yard, etc., what they really want is the opportunity to tell husbands they are performing the task incorrectly.  While the older, more accepted version may be “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”, the modern equivalent is”Passive aggressive behavior hath no firmer adherent than the modern wife.” 

Wife 2.0 has a very precise way of folding everything, towels, shirts, shorts, foundation garments, you know, everything.  Likewise, she sees no humor in my considered opinion it matters not how one folds one’s underwear only that one actually wear the underwear and then only if one anticipates participating in a subsequent automobile accident.    But, back to the issue at hand;  I would  suppose it doesn’t matter that the towel is  folded along it’s longitudinal axis times three rather than first along it’s horizontal axis, also times three.  For, should you fold along the horizontal axis (times three) first; the towels end up slightly square rather than slightly rectangular.  They work as well at drying one’s bum under either sequence, horizontal or longitudinal.  Likewise, given that they are used in the shower just off the master bed room, absolutely no one on planet earth other than Wife 2.0 and I will ever see them. But, by gosh, right is right and I mistakenly folded an entire load of towels horizontally rather than longitudinally and was then required to sit through an excruciating remedial session of “longitudinal then horizontal” folding for idiots and married men.    I try to be a good sport; but when Wife 2.0 dumped a load of my already folded underwear for the crime of improper folding, after all, they were my tighty whitys and as referenced above, are worn each and every single day without regard to my auto accident plans.  So, given the relatively low numbers in the entire population of my undershorts, I was confident to a moral certainty that even the wrongly folded undershorts would remain in the wrongly folded condition no longer than 48 hours.      However, much like John Hancock, Paul Revere, George Washington and the many other patriot founding fathers, it was timesto tell King Henry (Wife 2.0) that the tea was going in the harbor, and taxation without representation was at an end.  Or, in my case I would fold my tighty whitey undershorts in any manner I saw fit.  The same would hold true for my towels, my side of the bed and the direction I hang clean shirts (one should be looking at the left sleeve rather than the right sleeve as the shirts rest on the hanger.)

At the end of the day, I suspect Wife 2.0 doesn’t care how I do laundry.  She just wants to me do it in any fashion so that she can assure me it was wrong.  It appears that at long last, I found my role in this marriage; I am the whetstone on which she sharpens her sword, her intellect and her truly evil sense of humor.  I think next week I will mow the yard wrong and let her spend a great deal of time showing me the “right way” to cut grass.  After all, I am a visual learner, not one to follow verbal direction.  Oh well. See you next time.      

1 comment:

  1. Well, you can come do laundry at my house. I subscribe to the School of Horizontal-First Towel Folding and Left-Sleeve-Out Shirt Hanging. However, you are still a man. And, because of that, you're still probably doing it wrong. :)

    I tell Hubby "You're doing it wrong" when I don't even know what the hell he's doing. I just get that out of the way right up front because he expects it now. It's part of the daily rites and rituals of Old Married People.

    I was deathly ill with the flu for a month. Hubby had to do the laundry two weeks in a row. I was too sick to care. The third week he asked how to wash the bath mat. I tried to explain but it took too much energy. I finally snatched the detergent from his hand and did it myself. He said, "Oh Thank God! You're telling me I'm doing it wrong! You must be getting better!"

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