The Hubby and I have been married for seven years now, so we have the division of labor fairly well established. I cook, clean the toilet and change the cat’s litter box. He opens the mail, pays the bills, vaccuums and fixes most broken stuff. We usually do dishes together, but if one of us is feeling particularly starved of affection, doing the dishes alone while the other partner is out is a fast route to extra smiles, praise and gratitude. We do our own personal laundry, with the occasional good will gesture. “Hey honey, I’ve only got a few t-shirts to wash – do you have any whites that you want me to throw in with my load?” Towels and sheets are sort of gray area; someone washes them and then they may or may not fold them alone. Without much exception, we fold bed sheets together because they’re big, and because the bastard fitted sheet is just easier with four hands.
Thus we have arrived at our scene.
We washed sheets about two weeks ago. Note the lack of the words “and folded” from that sentence. So for two weeks now the Hubby and I have been moving the unfolded pile back and forth to various places around the apartment, apparently waiting for the perfect folding moment to present itself. The pile was on a chair in the front room for a while, but the dog tried to turn it into a nest. So the Hubby moved it to our bedroom, but it was in my way so I threw it in his man den. That must have been no good because I found it back in our bedroom a few days later. So I balanced the pile on the back of a chair where the dog couldn’t get at it. This morning things finally came to a head.
Hubby: C’mon, let’s fold these sheets.
Me: I don’t want to.
Hubby: C’mon, I’m tired of them being all over the place.
Me: They’re not all over the place – they’re in a single pile that’s constantly changing locations.
Hubby: Really? C’mon.
Me: [sighing] I’m playing, um, working on the computer. Why can’t the dog help you?
Hubby: He doesn’t have opposable thumbs.
Me: Worthless mutt.
I finally relent to the Hubby’s frowning stare and help fold the sheets. That’s 45 seconds of my life that I’ll never get back.