Monday, November 1, 2010

Four-Letter Words Coming Out of My Mouth

Nearly three weeks ago I drove my wife out of our house. Literally, in our car.

I've seen her in the past couple of weeks, just not at my house. The hottie has been 280 miles away helping out around the house as my eldest son brought a new child into the world. Okay, he drove his wife to the hospital, other than that his assistance ended at conception.

I'm usually not a fan of inducing labor but considering the last child was born in their car, I can understand it. Besides, it was plain luck that my son just happened to be in the right place at the right time to catch the baby and they can't afford another car right now.

While my wife has been gone, I found some four-letter words in my speech that I haven't used since my mom would wash my mouth out with soap for saying such four-letter words. Four-letter words like: wash, iron, cook, fold, load, clean, and vacuum. I know that clean and vacuum aren't four-letter words but they make me want to say some others much worse.

I'm doing it all wrong too. I just finished folding clothes in the family room. Standing, in my underwear, folding underwear, watching Top Gear. My wife would at least have a robe on. And it's not that I'm doing this in my underwear, I know that I'm not folding things right. The towels don't look right, the cloth napkins don't have fold marks in the right place and my underwear shows the remnants of the skid marks.

My wife would never fold clothes like me. She's a pro.

The truth is I might have let a few things go over the past couple of weeks with regards to the cleanliness of the house. I'm losing the battle. I tried to leave the toilet seat up a few times but I felt so guilty that after a couple of minutes I ran back upstairs and put both the seat and the lid down. I've vacuumed the family room a number of times but it tends to be where I live at night and I've been losing the battle against the wasps that have built a nest in the wall of my house. A vacuum, by the way, is a handy little tool that can also be used to suck a wasp to death.

I've ironed a shirt or two, and not just the parts of the shirt that are going to show. I ironed the entire shirt. I've sewed on buttons, cooked dinner, breakfast, kind of made the bed, definitely put a pillow case on two pillows for the grandson to use, poured chocolate milk out of the jug into the glass, loaded the dishwasher a gazillion times, unloaded it a zillion, which means that it's full right now.

Now I've committed the unpardonable sin.

I actually did the laundry.

Which I am forbidden to do.

Because… I tend to turn the whites into colors.

One little mistake and I live with it for life.

The good news is that everything came out the right color. The bad news, as previously mentioned, is that I have no concept of how to fold clothes or where the towels go.

And I have one stray sock without a partner, white, ankle length.

As for cooking, I can cook. But I miss chili Tuesday, her meatloaf, our passion for brussel sprouts, trying to force me to eat Romaine lettuce because it's healthier and besides, iceberg doesn't have any nutritional value or taste. She says.

I feel bad leaving the house in the morning and I haven't loaded the dishwasher.

I'm a baaaaaad man!

But mostly I just miss her. When she's here the world is right.

And the skid marks don't show.

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