Laundry

The chasm between us can be typified by laundry. We have live together for over year but there are still two kinds of laundry... his laundry and my laundry (consisting of all laundry that isn't his personal laundry). Every Sunday he clears the laundry room and like a meticulously timed clock moves his laundry about until it is done. Not that he reads the labels - philistine. Who pays $130 for a pair of jeans and then doesn't read the label?? Not that he knew what a well cut pair of jeans were before I did the queer eye thing for him for his birthday. Anyhow. Less on the source of laundry than on the politics of laundry.

Let me take you to this sunday. It was mothers day. He bought breakfast stuff and some flowers and my 16 year old cooked breakfast ( yummy, he is a good cook) and it was really nice. Nothing over the top... no coffee. All in all I thought it was really nice. Anyhow He (the man not my boy) cleaned the kitchen afterwards... bitched about it the whole time. In fact bitched about it the whole day. While I worked. The whole day. Oh, I took 30 min to go have a bath. Anyhow. He does his laundry as he does every Sunday as if not doing so would somehow upset the delicate balance that keeps the world spinning. Uses all the laundry soap. It never even occurs to him that I too will need to go to work tomorrow. Children will need to go to school. In fact he doesn't even mention it. I get to find out the hard way when I go to wash something for work at 8ish when I could no longer look at the TV screen. Myopic that is what he is. It never occurs to him to just do something together. And when he does (i.e. breakfast) I am made to pay for it. How nice is that. Grrrrh. Anyhow now he is confused that I don't want much to do with him. Why should I. Will I ever iron his shirts just to be nice again?? I think not.


Right now there is this brit pop song rolling through my head. The refrain goes "Everyday I love you less and less". I fantasize about little two bedroom ghetto apartments with just me and the boys. Some where were people are more (and less) than just safe about every choice they ever make. And things aren't perfect and they aren't beige and they don't have to be either. Fucking laundry.