Airing Some Dirty Laundry

While I have failed to get Mr. Lime to carry a used plate to the kitchen sink, and Snavy has failed to get Mr. Snavy to put away the can opener, I thought it might be useful to share one area of success I have had. In the words of Dave Barry, 'I am not making this up.'

At the end of the first week of wedded bliss I gathered up the dirty laundry and headed off to the laundrymat. As I sorted the clothes into washing machines I noticed a complete absence of Mr. Lime's dirty underwear. I thought this was very odd since he is not a 'commando' sort of guy and all his other clothes from the week, as far as I could tell, were among the piles of fermented fabrics. I washed, dried, and folded all the clothes, loaded them up, took them home, and put them all away.

The next morning, as Mr. Lime was dressing for work, he opened his drawer and asked me where all his clean skivvies were. I said, 'Funny you should ask. I wondered where all the dirty ones were when I did laundry yesterday.' Then he asked if I had pulled the dirties out from under the bed. Under the bed?? Why would they be under the bed? And if they were, why would I pull them out when the entire bedroom was only big enough to hold a queen sized bed, a dresser and a wash basket that was 12 inches away from the bed. All the other dirty clothes made it into the basket. Why not the undies? THEN the moment of truth arrived. Mr. Lime said with all the befuddled innocence of the eternally indulged, 'It's where I always put them at home and my mother always pulled them out on wash day.'

I sashayed over to him, in my own state of being partially attired, kissed him tenderly, nibbled his neck, cooed in his ear, and said, 'My darling, I love you. I only want your happiness. (kiss....fondle....nibble) I can be your mommy or your wife. And the decision is entirely yours (nuzzle....caress...peck). But if I am your mommy (hug.....grind.....deep kiss) certain activities would be illegal and immoral.'

I haven't searched for skivvies since.