Last night my child was about 2 seconds from being born without a father.
As my husband was getting ready for work this conversation took place:
DH: Will you please separate the whites from the darks when you are doing laundry? My undershirts are dingy.
ME: Would you please learn how to take off your sweaters without your undershirts attached to the inside where I can’t see them as I am sorting?
DH: That takes too much time.
ME: Then do the laundry your damn self if you don’t like how it’s done. I’m not your maid.
DH: Were you not listening to the marriage vows? It specifically said you had to do my laundry and be subservient as a maid to my domestic bidding.
I think time may have stood still. Even the dogs didn’t breathe as my glare became dangerously close to incinerating his body into a pile of little ashes on the bedroom floor. I refrained since I would have had to clean that up.
ME: I don’t know what wedding you went to, but the one I was at said nothing of the sort.
All I can say is my son better be glad his father wasn’t able to keep a straight face for very long. Dead I tell you.
Word to the wise: It is not safe to tease a pregnant woman about household chores. I am still contemplating not doing his laundry for the next two weeks…or washing his clothes along with the dog bedding. He might start to appreciate gray/blue undershirts a little more.