The Chief and I have shared living space for over twenty years now and I fear I shall never enlighten him regarding the difference between in the laundry basket and next to the laundry basket.
The difference between in the laundry basket and next to the laundry basket is, in actual, three-dimensional, Euclidean space, about six inches, possibly less.
In The Chief's own little world, however, that distance might as well be 20 light years. The socks, the boxers, the T-shirts, never seem to make it in the laundry basket. The man would have me believe that it is not that he is deliberately dropping his clothes a mere six inches from the laundry basket, oh no. He would have me believe that he begins putting his clothes in the basket with the best of intentions, but no matter how hard he hurls the socks, no matter how carefully he takes aim, they simply will not go in the laundry basket. There must be--and I quote--"something screwy with the gravity over in that corner of the room."
He would also have me believe that a man who can find his way into the bathroom, perform his nightly ablutions, get ready for bed, and find his way into bed amongst the various canines who may or may not be stretched out on the floor or curled up on the bed in the dark cannot get his clothing in the laundry basket, which has occupied the very same space for as long as we have lived in this house.
Now, I have ventured into that corner of the room many a time, let me tell you, both to deposit my own dirties in the laundry basket, and to scoop up the pile of clothes that have been left next to the laundry basket, and near as I can tell, there is absolutely nothing wrong with gravity in that part of the room.
Neither of the children, both of whom are considerably younger (and possibly brighter) than The Chief has any difficulty with this concept (although their grasp of the difference between in the dishwasher and on the dishwasher is tenuous at best, but we'll save that one for another time). Their laundry baskets are always full of dirty clothes, and aside from the occasional sock that escapes the heap, I rarely find any laundry on their floors. (Clothing that has been worn by Little Mouse for about 6.5 seconds before being flung off and hurled to the floor because it is not exactly right and then left there is an entirely different story, and we will not speak of it here lest I completely lose it.)
After twenty years, I guess I am mostly resigned to my fate, and to put it into perspective, there are a lot worse jobs out there than scooping a pile of dirty clothes off the floor and depositing them in the laundry basket every morning. But hell, I thought when I married him that he would at least be trainable!
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ha the dirty little secret about marriage...none of us are trainable!!
Yeah, I think I should have guessed something was up on our wedding day when his mother patted my shoulder and said, "Well, dear, he's your problem now!"
Okay, let us examine this from a not-so-scientific point of view: First, look at the letter 'X'. See those two little feet at the bottom? Nice and sturdy. Reliable little feet.
Now, look at the letter 'Y'. Uh-oh, it's not looking so good for the little 'Y'. It teeters about on its one little leg. Weak and ineffectual. At least from a supporting stance.
Perhaps the Chief is relying too heavily on his 'Y' chromosomes when he's attempting to toss his clothes into the basket. Try throwing anything while simultaneously attempting to balance on one foot, and you're not going to do so well. Plant both feet on the ground, and you'll hit your mark more often than not. That also explains why they tend to miss the target when they're um...relieving themselves in the bathroom.
That, or men are just genetically predisposed to be laundry and grocery shopping-challenged and dirt-blind.
I suspect it may be a Clever Ploy, all part of his Cunning Plan, carefully engineered to ensure that he will never have to do laundry...once upon a time, when doing a load of whites, The Chief tossed a red T-shirt in with the load. How one could miss a red T-shirt mixed in with all those gleaming whites, I still cannot fathom. The resulting pink underwear and socks made me swear I would never trust him with laundry again. But I suspect now that it was all just part of his Cunning Plan...and look how well it worked! He hasn't done a load of laundry since!
I'm quite sure this is part of the same thing.
Oh, indeed! But, alas, it is not just the Chief. It is part of a much larger scheme being perpetrated by men everywhere. They intentionally screw up the laundry (throwing expensive rayon and silk blouses into the dryer so they shrink to the point that only a doll could wear them), improperly load the dishwasher so the dishes come out dirtier than when they went in, and buy mysterious foods from the grocery store that I'm certain are not manufactured in the mainstream food industry, and may also not truly be considered "food". It is all a ploy to keep them from ever being asked to help out around the house ever again.
I'm thinking there may even be a secret male lobby in Washington.
Hmmm...perhaps I need to change my tactics...I do it with the kids...when I ask them to do something around the house, I always ask myself first, What is the goal here? Is it to have a clean bathroom or a (eventually)(one hopes) competent daughter/son? Perhaps I need to do the same thing with The Chief...only I don't think I can live with nothing but pink clothing for the forseeable future...
hehehe It's a chromosome thing ;)
I have the laundry issue, also. However, this is the one that I truly don't get. Hubby will do the dishes and leave one fork laying on the counter, not in the dishwasher, he will leave one cabinet door open or wipe down all the counters but one. He also will load the dishwasher, put soap in it and walk off without hitting the start button. It truly boggles the mind!
Actually, I do know that he is ALWAYS thinking about something other than the chore he is doing and is so not present that he actually does not see these things that he misses.
I have (mostly) learned to laugh it off and move on. Mostly!
Tamara,
I have the same problem your hubby does...and it drives my hubby crazy. I hate housework, and my mind is always elsewhere, whether I'm washing the dishes, or whatever...and I often will wander off towards the end of a job and leave it unfinished. My son does the same thing. Clearing the table means everything is cleared off except one fork, or one glass.
I suppose we all have our little quirks, and if he can live with me leaving things half done, I suppose I can cut him some slack as far as the laundry basket is concerned.
Not that I have a whole lot of choice!
"We all have our little quirks"
Dang, do you think I do things that drive my hubby crazy? Hmmmm. And, here I thought I had it all together! LOL
I think peace in marriage (and life) is much more achievable when we realize that we do each have little things that it is just easier to accept about each other than fight them or try to change the other person. Of course, I forget this as often as the next person. *sigh*
"...do you think I do things that drive my hubby crazy?"
Oh, probably...
But you're right...I'm sure we all have little habits that we don't even notice that drive other people up the wall!
And I have to add to that bit about my son always leaving one thing when he clears the table...this morning after I got home from the grocery store, I discovered that last week when he cleared the table on taco night, he put my just-opened $7.00 bottle of salsa in the cupboard instead of in the fridge. We'll just brush right over me not being observant enough to notice the big honking bottle of salsa that I had to move aside every morning to get at the peanut butter....
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