Six months ago, I lived with my mother. I didn’t cook dinner. I didn’t clean toilets. I didn’t have a mortgage.
These days, I like to think of myself in a more domesticated and responsible light. I cook dinner every night. I gag when I clean THREE toilets. My purse has never been so thin. I clip coupons for cryin out loud.
Last night I was feeling a bit of a swagger after I came home from a very productive day of work, contributed in a staff meeting, hit the gym, cooked up a tasty dinner (gnocci and home made tomato sauce), and went food shopping with my handsome husband. I felt like an adult last night. In the best way possible.
And then this morning came. I was still riding the happy high from last night. It is four years that we have dated each other today. He shoveled our driveway while I made him 2 PBJs, an orange, and 5 oreo cookies in his red lunch bag.
Then, I felt the wind get sucked right out from under my sails. Apparently, laundry isn’t my forte. It’s not exactly a secret that I don’t enjoy doing the clothes. In fact, I’d rather scrub FOUR toilets. Seriously. My husband walked into the kitchen with a lumpy, ball-y, now-bikini-style sweatshirt on.
I’ve tried everything from drying his sweatshirts separately, to not drying them at all and hanging them to dry. Yesterday, I thought I was so smart, I only washed his sweatshirts with his sweatshirts. I even bought a lint shaver. See…
I can’t figure out what I am doing wrong!! But it’s starting to cause drama. Somebody help!!! I’m not a laundry professional. I wash whites with towels. I mismatch socks. But the clothes have been okay for the most part.
Exhibit A : The lumpiest sweathshirt ever.
Exhibit B :
Exhibit C :
close up (it didn’t even need a close up. You can see this lint from outer space! :
Well, there it is folks. Somebody help me. Please! xo Mindy