I should be grateful. I married a man that can use the wash machine. After two decades He-who-must-be-adored has learnt: a white wash is a wash of whites only. Glee of the lesson learnt ebbed away: the white mat the dog sleeps and slobs on was in the machine. With my whites! With tea-towels! And underwear! School shirts! What else? The mat was out and the whites back on one of the two washes the old machine can still manage: boil or quick chill. Is this a metaphor for my marriage?
The rain on top of the half-melted-half-iced pavements is snow joke. It was a slow slip-slide-skid all the way to school and back. My first thought at the weird screeching as I returned revealed itself to be the washing machine. It was as upset as I. The Nativity Room floor was under an inch of soapy water. The drum was full to the top. More poured from the door and drawer.
He was enjoying his second lay-in this week (not that we count because he works late into the night ‘saving London’. He does a hard job and he brings home the bacon). I shouted ‘HELP FLOOD’. He flew down the stairs in the dance that only the freshly woken from a deep and pleasant sleep can do. Followed by the headless chicken routine while I fetched more towels (this was an emergency and more towels are always needed).
Amid a blur of frantic mopping and moving an extraordinary large amount of stuff from the smallest room in the house I made mental note to self to sort this crap out. Then the volume of He’s ranting filtered in….
“Why do you have such weird hygiene rules? Is it just to cause upset? Why do dog blankets have to be washed separately? What difference does it make if they are getting sloshed in water? This is all your fault! It you weren’t so weird that wash wouldn’t have been re-done. This would never have happened during my first lay-in in ages (Monday? but we don’t keep scores). Why are you so controlling with your stupid rules? Why can’t canvas shoes be worn in the snow? Why can’t shoes go on the table? What is that whole weird dishcloth/floorcloth differential”.
There was more. With expletives. At a high volume. The tipping point may have been his discovery of my stroppy note written when I thought it’d be a good 18 hours before our paths crossed again about did he not know the dog blanket wash rule for HEALTH (underlined and capitals) reasons?
I can’t remember what else was shouted. It wasn’t pretty. In my defence I didn’t use as many expletives as He. I was not the first to raise my voice. I soon after threw in the towel (mop actually even though it wasn’t doing much as there was just too much damn soapy water).
And, it was NOT with a clear calm voice that I said (and I am paraphrasing here) “we could support each other and clean up the mess together. However due to your inappropriate language and behaviour you will be doing it on your own”.
I stomped like a grumpy toddler. Slammed the door. Over-revved the car. And off to work I went. This is all within minutes of his waking. This is all before his morning coffee fix. This is all 3 weeks after we both decided we would be free from nicotine.
Tonight peace is restored. The old machine is gone. Bbecause of an underwire from my underwear it was my fault. The new machine has a control panel a small aircraft would be proud of. No more wiggling the door to make it work. It spins on every wash you wish. The drum paddles don’t fall out after you do towels.
Sensing the tension the dog stayed in her bed ‘til I returned from work for the school run. I am over the snow fun factor. I don’t appreciate being mistaken for a ski-er at decision corner: even though my arms were outstretched and I was dragged along the ice by the dog.
‘I suppose you want an apology’ is not actually an apology.
He-who-must-be-adored is trying. He took the night off. He cooked supper (a curry dish I’ve always expressed a dislike for). He collected the little-un from Rainbows. He walked the dog. He got the laundry up to date. He is trying to fix the family pc of it’s jinxed crashing problem.
I welcome the new day.