Laundry day is the worst one for Jenny and I. Now that summer is approaching we’ll have to celebrate it more since it’s a lot more difficult to get away with wearing the same clothes every day. Unless we become cartoon characters, we’re stuck wearing fresh, clean clothes on a regular basis. Yuck!

Both of us have our own approach to doing laundry. Jenny is actually far more familiar with hand-washing which she still does sometimes. The only moments I remember hand-washing clothes was to remove poop streaks from my tighty-whities as a little kid. My mom would always yell at me for this which meant I could either try tossing them in the wash when a load had already started or throw them on the neighbors’ lawn. When our washing machine broke and we started using a laundromat the neighbors received 100% of my dirty underwear.

Laundry day as an adult is more menacing. It’s all up to you. It’s also something I’m not entirely sure I’m doing right. Nobody ever taught me how to clean my clothes. That’s not fair. Even wolves teach feral boys how to lick themselves clean.

When our laundry day comes it’s up to Jenny and I to combine forces. We each bring our best attributes to the table. I’m basically the one who carries the heavy things, shoves the quarters into the faulty machines, and does all of the high-reaching. Jenny focuses more on cleanliness, organization, and making sure none of her underwear accidentally slips into my drawer no matter how much I ask.

I used to hate laundry a lot more than I do now. Back when we were separated it stole time away from each other. Now, we suffer together. And that’s the key to a good marriage: living a painful life by the other’s side.