Thanksgiving

I exhale as I open the dryer and pull out:  3 bath towels, a pillow case, 3 pairs of underwear, a t-shirt, one sock (!) and 3 dish rags.

This is a true story.  This is how John does the laundry.

What I feel is a unique blend of utter stupefaction and hopeless resignation.  Then comes the inner dialogue:

Me:  What the H?  How can he think that this makes any sense?!
Me:  Remember, though, that he took the initiative to do the laundry this week again, and that is a good thing.
Me:  But he does it all wrong!!!!
Me:  According to whom?
Me:  According to ME!!  And I'm willing to bet all women in the developed world.
Me:  It's not a big deal.  He's making an important contribution.
Me:  Yes, he's contributing to my insanity...

You get the idea.  This conversation goes on for some time.

But eventually, I get tired of hearing my own complaints (yes, that can happen from time to time), and I shift into problem solving mode.  (What a good mediator I am!)

As I look around at the piles of yet-to-be-washed laundry that John had sorted (I use that term loosely, obviously), I am compelled to totally reorganize it all.  Better yet, I should call him down here so I can, once again, explain the basic rules of laundry sorting to him (e.g. you do all the towels together,  the sheets and pillow cases to-geth-er...).

Instead, I smile as I fold the bath towels, the pillow case, the underwear, the t-shirt and the dish rags.  I search for the stray partner of the lonely sock.

I go back upstairs and I thank John for all his help.  And I really mean it.