As long as I am married to Robbie, which will be until I’m senile or dead, I will never run out of things to write about. Here is a conversation we had this evening:
Me: “We’re out of laundry detergent, so I can’t wash any more clothes until I go to the store.”
Robbie: “Just use that stuff in the blue bottle.”
Me: “What stuff? You mean fabric softener?”
Robbie: “Yeah, that stuff. It’s all the same.”
Me: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, IT’S ALL THE SAME?!”
Robbie: “It all basically does the same thing. It gets them clean.”
Me: “No … no.”
Robbie: “Yes it does, I washed a few loads awhile back with that stuff.” (He’s referring to the other weekend when I went to the beach.)
Me: (silence)
Robbie: “It got them clean.”
Me: “That explains the weird blue stains on our clothes.”
Robbie: “Oh.”
What’s even MORE amazing is that this exact thing happened when I was 12 years old, and my dad took over laundry duties because my mom returned to the workforce.
Weeks, WEEKS, I TELL YOU, went by with the three of us — me, my mom, and my dad — wondering where all of these grey-blue spots were coming from.
Whoever said that most women end up marrying a man who is just like their father was so, so right.
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