i did laundry this morning as i was getting ready to go to work. i put three of the bee's pairs of work jeans in the washer as i got in the shower. and when i got out of the shower, it sounded like i was mixing paint. or trying to shake the building off it's foundation. it was like my own personal earthquake in our apartment, it was awesome. our washer and dryer is one of thsoe stackable units, small and cute and fits right in the closet. and i'm slowly learning the limits of its capacity.
see, at my mom's house you can cram a whole hamper full of filthy clothes into the washer and they still come out sparkling clean. but i learned on day one in the new abode (not adobe) that if you put too much in the mini washer, the clothes jump out of the top of the machine and the whole unit, dryer and all, shakes and shimmies its way until its bulging out the door of the closet, like it wants to break out and kick my ass for overstuffing it. like i knew, gosh.
so now when i do laundry, i have to break it down into colors, type and weight of the load. because washing two pairs of pants and two sweatshirts is acceptable. but washing three pairs of pants and two sweatshirts sounds like rapid machine gun fire. and washing three pairs of the bee's pants at one time, well, i'm not going to make that mistake again.
i'm not even going to tell you how long it took me to find the lint trap or what that looked like when i finally discovered it. let me just say this: it's in the stupidist fucking spot imaginable and i have never in my life seen so much lint at once.
it's been mutually agreed that i'll do the laundry and he'll do the man-tasks, like taking out the trash and unloading the dishwasher and killing the bugs. because i freaking HATE taking out the garbage and unloading the dishwasher and there's no way i'm killing bugs unless i'm completely alone and have to break out the bug vacuum. yup - i've got a vacuum just for killing bugs. you put the nozzle over the multi-legged offender and suck that bastard up into a tube of pesticide where he eventually dies a slow and painful death.
bugs are motherfuckers. all of them. even the "cute" ones, like ladybugs and rollie-pollie bugs. yuk, yuk, yuckity motherfucking yuk.
anyway. i'll do the laundry because i'm kind of particular about what gets washed with what - like, i don't want his work pants washed with my nice work pants, because what if they get nasty boy work pant cooties on them? and i want all of my nice shirts washed separate from his work shirts and blah blah blah... you can clearly see where this is going: i'm just a pain in the ass. i know. i'll own that statement. but our clothes are clean and they look nice. i just bet the neighbors freaking hate me for doing the laundry at all hours of the day and night. hahaha... suckers.
when i was a kid, my dad did some of the laundry. those were interesting times. like, there would be periods of time when he was unemployed (and now you see where i get THAT gene) and he'd do the laundry and some of the chores around the house and order lots and lots of magazine subscriptions all while wearing his bill cosby robe and watching reruns of little house on the prairie (he was a big michael landon fan). he once bleached our socks to the point that they disintegrated in our hands as we tried to pull them over our heels. you could practically hear the entire house groan as we put on our socks in unison that morning and the tops of our incredibly white socks ripped off and pulled up to our thighs. i'm pretty careful with the bleach these days.
so yeah. i tried really hard to go to work today. i'm serious. the bee was like, "i'm not going in, wahh, wahh, wahh... let's have an all day underwear party... i don't feel good..." and he called in. but i was all, "somebody's got to make money in this damn house, biznatch." and i got up and got in the shower and got ready for work. no joke, i was out the door at such a time that would have allowed me to be just a few minutes late, which is pretty much the norm. but i got outside and my car wouldn't start and it was cold and my head does hurt, and so i took it all as a sign. a big, glaring, flashing neon sign from god that i wasn't supposed to do much today.
so here i am. the bee is fending phone calls from work as he lies in bed and pretends to be sick. i think he's really just tired, and who am i to point fingers? i'm not at work, i'm on the damn sofa. but whatever. as soon as i can roll him out of bed and outside to jump my car, i'm headed to c-town for a new battery and to see my momma.
i'm going to go work on that.