My husband does 90% of our laundry. I *mostly* love this about him. I'm not trying to blow pixie dust up your tailpipe to make you think he was always this awesome; it took having our second child before he realized I was taking on more than I could handle as far as day to day household duties go. We both work full time so I think a more equal split was only fair. I'm glad he agreed. I prefer to do most of the cooking and he doesn't clean to suit me so the laundry was the obvious winner.
"Doing laundry" entails washing, drying and sorting the clothes. Everyone is still responsible for putting up their own clothing which means our 12 year old put his own away (more like he opens his closet door and throws them in) and I put the rest away but I'm not complaining. I'll take what I can get. Last night as I was hanging up a load of dark colors, I ran across one of my new dresses. As in "I just bought it this past weekend and have only worn it once" new. I held it up and sighed. It was at least three inches shorter than it was just a few days ago. "I'm guessing you dried this," I said with an obvious ill tone. I couldn't help it. "How am I supposed to know what gets dried and what doesn't. You should really label that stuff." *Sigh* At this point I'm just giving him "the look" when he adds, "I don't know what the big deal is anyway. You have beautiful legs." Nice try, buddy. I'm still mad, though. Sort of. Okay fine - I'm smiling.
Yeah, he's totally off the hook.
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