The other day, the husband asked if he could please wash his own clothes. This is not the first time.
He is missing two socks.
We have been through this before. Somehow he feels the laws of laundry should not apply to him. He believes his sock pairs should always remain intact, matched, and never lost or separated.
Why does he think his two missing socks is more devastating than the handful of socks the rest of us are missing?? I keep them, patiently waiting for the prodigal missing socks to return. You never know….
Supposedly, when he was single and did his own laundry, he never lost a sock. Big deal. He probably had the time to stand by the washer and dryer, counting socks as he transferred from one to the other, and congratulated himself daily on his perfect laundry record.
Over here, in real life…. things are not so orderly. I have teens that occasionally help, when forced, with laundry. I have a zillion children and between them a countless number of socks. Many of them now have the same sized feet, and wear similar colored socks. This is ridiculous. I know, I just KNOW there is a place inside the washer that destroys socks. Or transports them to an alternate universe. Like a black hole.
Anyway…. the point is…. he wants to do his own laundry because he really likes this pair of socks and now he only has one left. I’ve looked in everyones laundry. Everyones drawers. It’s totally missing.
So, probably yesterday wasn’t the best day for him to say this to me. I’m a little hormonally unbalanced at the moment…. and so ended up getting very snarky with comments about how I was still good enough to clean his toilets…and him doing his best to avoid an actual argument about my inadequate sock washing skills.
A talk with my sister helped me realize that I might be over reacting. Slightly. After all, he apparently is just talking about one thing, his socks… whereas in my mind, I’ve already taken his rejection of my laundry efforts as the first step in the eventual demise of our relationship.
Perhaps…. he still loves me. And he just wants to try keeping his socks together himself. I suppose that’s a possibility.
I didn’t have full insight until later today…. as I chose to eat a huge chocolate peanut butter cupcake and watch “daddy’s home” instead of working out….. and cried at the dance-off at the end. Then chased those tears with a piece of french silk pie.
Hormones. They are no joke.