I’m up to my giraffe-woman neck in moving chaos, so not much to say at the moment, unless you want to hear about how it took me a full day to scour the cupboards of a tiny condo kitchen—a festival of filth and a parting gift from the previous owners. Honestly, what IS the matter with people? I’ll tell you right now, you can safely lick inside every single cupboard (and the toilet bowl, if you’re so inclined) in the apartment I just left. I’ve moved around a lot by now and I’ve never once left a mess for someone else to clean, however, a fine one is more often than not left for me. But I digress.
Today, a quick word about a recent domestic request from Rusty. See, I do the laundry around these parts, damned good of me I’d say. The normally laid back, not especially anal retentive person I live with said to me, “I don’t think you should put away my underwear any more.” Ah, manna from heaven was my first thought, one less thing to do. Then my shrinky curiosity got the better of me and I asked him why. He told me and, for once, I was entirely at a loss for words. I said nothing and let it be for a while.
After some reflection, instead of telling him where he could stick his underwear, I decided a classified ad placed in every newspaper in North America is the way to go on this one.
Woman desperately seeking new wife for her husband: Smiley, handy, fit but not terribly tall, red-headed man; speaks English, French, Spanish and a little Italian, so women from around the world are encouraged to apply. No particular set of physical characteristics required as he says he “likes all sorts of babes.” Must be prepared to gain a few pounds from the constant supply of double chocolate chip cookies. Must also be willing to fold and put away boxers in a complex ‘rotation of wear’ manner.
God love him, more to be pitied than blamed. I’ve got my fingers crossed for him. When she moves in, I promise to go easy on her, she can fold my underwear however she pleases. Any takers?