The maid is fired

When I was little, I used to joke with my Mom that doing laundry was her hobby. She does laundry like you've never seen. Colors never fade, clothes never shrink, everything comes out looking as if I had it taken to the dry cleaner. Unfortunately, I did not inherit this gene. I did, however, learn the basics of doing laundry. Meaning I separate the items out. I do the dark colors with the dark colors. I do the whites with the whites. I put like fabrics together. I even change the setting on the washing machine from Permanent Press or Cotton to Delicates when I wash my "under things."

Whenever I dump out my hamper and start sorting my clothes all over the floor and I yell at my husband, "do you have any white stuff that needs to be washed?" He looks at me like I'm insane (you'd think by now, after he's seen me do this nine hundred times he would stop), and he says, "I just put all my stuff in together. Why do you sort yours out?" And for the nine hundredth time I tell him sorting laundry is important. It keeps the colors from fading, and even more importantly, it keeps the colors from running.

So, today, I am putting in my clothes after returning from camping, and I ask, "do you have any clothes to put in the washing machine?" And I stick my stuff in and he sticks his stuff in and long story short, all of our stuff comes out blue. Why? Because dillhole stuck a blue hoodie that had never been washed in with all of our clothes. That's what I get for letting him be in charge. Learned my lesson.

Do you think next time, when I'm sorting, he'll ask me why I don't just wash it all together? I bet you five whole dollars that he does.