Dirty Laundry

I hate laundry. Alot. When I was married to J-Fed, he detested the way I did laundry. He always looked wrinkly and often he stunk like mildew. Now, you might be thinking that it was intentional, but it wasn't. It just boiled down to the fact that I hate laundry.

It seems pointless to repeatedly wash something that's just going to get dirty all over again. That said, as much as I don't like doing the wash, I also don't like to smell bad or look bad. I personally didn't care how J-Fed looked. If he wanted to be clean-pressed as if he'd just stepped out of the drycleaners, the onus was on him.

As much of a slacker as J-Fed was about certain household duties, he took laundry seriously, as in he seriously wanted me to do it in proper fashion. To this my response was, screw off buddy and do your own laundry.

I can't count the number of times he'd explode after finding his clothes in the dryer, wrinkled and damp. It was usually after they'd taken residence there for approximately a week. At one point, he adopted a "hands off policy," as in I should keep my hands off his laundry. He told me if I couldn't do it right, I shouldn't do it at all.

So you might be wondering how J-Fed did the laundry. Well, usually he didn't. But when he did, it was downright anal. The dryer had barely stopped before he had all of the laundry in a basket and in the room where he'd meticulously fold all of the clothes. His jeans were hung perfectly with not a crease in sight. His shirts appeared so perfect I wondered if he'd spent a stint at the Gap that I didn't know about. And his closet was in complete order without an article of clothing out of place.

I was jealous to say the least. If he was so good at laundry duty, why couldn't he do it all of the time? And why couldn't he do mine the same way? I longed to have wrinkle-free clothing that looked almost brand new. Unfortunately, time wasn't on my side and it was hard to achieve such a feat with all of the other more important things I had to do.