Sometimes I Dream of Never Retrieving My Laundry From the Dryer and Starting a New Life

Do you want to know what my pastime is these days besides trying to compose semi-interesting blog posts (there's no guarantee on this one, by the way)? 

Doing a load of laundry every five minutes.

It's amazing how many towels two people use in a week. You wouldn't believe the way I'm constantly laundering those things, along with sweat-moistened Mr. Handyman shirts and clammy Mr. Handyman cargo shorts that have a gazillion pockets that always seem to contain drill bits, nails, and other tidbits that clink and clunk in the dryer.

I have two questions: (1) Why does my man never miss his drill bits and remember there are sharp objects in his pockets before throwing his shorts in...I mean near the hamper? and (2) Who decided my job was to empty those pockets? 

Since Bill started his Mr. Handyman gig five years ago, I've gathered miscellaneous metal items from his pockets and thrown them in a bowl on his dresser, thinking he'd need them eventually. I've also put them in his toolbox and wherever else a handyman keeps small sharp objects. 

The pile collected dust and grew, and then one day he said something like, "Have you seen my DeWalt Pilot Point Cobalt Alley Steel drill bits and my Metabo siding nails? They were right here." And I was like, "Dude, that bowl of the stuff I've been emptying out your pockets has been sitting on your dresser for five years.  I just threw it in the trash THIS MORNING!"

And he was like, "Wait? What? I needed those?"

I don't know about you, but I think need is a strong word when referring to something you've ignored for half a decade. 

So be gone miscellaneous drill bits and nails.

 I hated those things. I hated the pinging noise they made when I missed emptying a pocket, and they were tossed around the dryer. I hated stopping the dryer and performing the required laundry scavenger hunt to find a searing piece of metal among hot, damp clothes. And I really hated how they made holes in my clothes.

I am not perfect, and I will admit to recently leaving half a chocolate protein bar in the cupholder of our car that melted and multiplied into 27 pounds of brown goo that we will probably be cleaning for as long as we own that car. Still, I have never put jabby things in our washer and dryer that poked holes in our clothes. 

It's not like I wear high-end boutique clothing, but is it too much to ask that I get the full $8 worth out of my Marshall's clearance rack skort and have at least a few clothing items that don't look like a rabid dog has chewed them?

We have since reached an understanding that ALL POCKETS WILL BE EMPTIED BY THE CLOTHING'S OWNER BEFORE THE CLOTHING ITEM IS LAUNDRED. For penance, I think Bill should empty my purse every evening and organize the balled-up receipts, possibly clean but probably used Kleenex, snack wrappers, and half-melted makeup.

Small, sharp metal objects aside, lately, everything has been coming out of the dryer in a giant static-charged clump because we ran out of softener sheets a few weeks ago, and I keep forgetting to add them to the grocery list. 

Oh, and since I'm the sole laundry person around here, I am expected to fold not only all the towels but also the clothes. And although Bill would like me to do that thing with his socks where you match them and then fold down the top half so they stay together, I MUST DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE.

I'm going to hobble into the bathroom now and eat a few Motrin because Peggy went squat crazy at Body Blast class on Friday and I’m still sore, and then I'm going to FOLD MORE FREAKING TOWELS. 

Enjoy the beautiful day my friends!