Laundryshame

Bridgette left me at home alone last night with the boy and a short list of chores. Among them was to finish the laundry, and to assist me she left me a helpful note of the items that should not be placed in the dryer, lest they shrink. Certainly this was a reasonable request for any adult with a well-managed beard and Master’s Degree.

Of course, I blew it. A few hours after she left, I pulled her shrunken workout pants out of the dryer (the ones she expressly stated not to put in the dryer) and let slip a choice phrase from my college years.

So a hearty, ironic congratulations now goes out to me for destroying my wife’s pants and failing to execute her clear, concise request. I have effectively demonstrated my need for her to nag me about simple chores, so for the time being my childish bristling will go unwarranted. If there’s anything worse than being nagged, it’s acknowledging the demonstrable fact that I need to be nagged. This is just lovely.

What’s also lovely is that because of my foolish error, my wife will be spending $25 or $30 on a new pair of workout pants, money that is likely to come out of my monthly strobe light budget (I’m converting my garage into the Chamber of Epilepsy). If the next few weeks suck, I have only myself to blame.

Excuse me now, won’t you? I’m going to go sit in a bathroom stall for a while and look at my knife.

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4 Responses to Laundryshame

  1. tim hopps says:

    Ah, laundry lessons. We all learn them at some point. At a laundromat in Brainerd, I once put our bass player’s white shirt that his dad bought him in Hawaii in with my red stage pants and turned his shirt a lovely, effeminate pink (this was back before guys could wear pink and look cool). He was mad at me. The lesson learned? Don’t own red pants.

  2. peter says:

    If only the world had learned that lesson, Tom.

  3. tim hopps says:

    I still have my orange pants in a drawer somewhere if you ever want to dress up on Halloween as me in the 80’s.

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