Three important facts you need to know before I begin this rant:
- The Dairy Man has a habit of leaving dirty towels around the house.
- The Dairy Man cuts his own hair.
- I love my husband.
Let’s begin, shall we?
As the wife of a farmer, most household tasks fall to me. This was one of the first things I had to accept when we got married. It’s not because I’m a guileless victim to my gender, I just happen to have more time. And frankly my standards are higher. If left to his own devices, the DM would live in squalor and eat nothing but Frosted Mini Wheats. At least that’s what I suspect.
One of the Dairy Man’s more irksome habits is leaving a trail of items—socks, flannel shirts, shoes, towels—in his wake as he putters around the house. I always allocate time on laundry day to collect these wayward articles.
I was on such a mission on Monday. After tracking down all of the dirty towels in the house, including an innocuous green towel balled up next to the washing machine, I started a load of wash while I made dinner. I was feeling good. Productive. Like a modern day Marsha Brady with a full-time job and a college degree. When the washing machine timer dinged, I headed to the back room to throw the towels into the dryer.
As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was terribly wrong. The inside of the machine looked like a bunny had exploded, leaving little piles of brown fur everywhere.
Before I go on, let’s back up.
A few days ago, the DM decided to give himself a haircut. He laid a towel on the bathroom floor and went to town on his head with an electric shaver. After he was properly shorn, DM rolled the hair clippings up into the towel and headed to the back room.
MFW: Babe, make sure you shake out that towel outside before you put it in your hamper.
DM: I will!
MFW: Well, it’s just that last time you balled the towel up in the bottom of your hamper and I washed it and hair got everywhe…
DM: (Interrupts) I got it! I’ll take care of it. ______________________
Fast forward to the next day. Me. Standing in front of my washer. Horrified.
The DM listened; he didn’t put the hair-filled towel in his hamper. He rolled it up, placed it next to the washer, and thought “I’ll take care of that later.”
Except he forgot.
I spent the next 10 minutes wiping piles of brown hair from the washer drum, filter, and rubber seal. The hair-covered towels were thrown into the dryer and I stopped their tumbling every few minutes to empty the filter. When all was said and done, it looked like a small furry animal had taken up residence in my trash can.
Kids: marriage is always glamorous, logical, and grown-up. Wait, no. I lied. It can be messy, frustrating, and silly.
But thankfully, even under all of the hair, there is still a lot of love.
MFW, chinchilla wrangler