Always the Last to Bed

“I have no clean underwear” said my husband as I was unpacking from my business trip. I was half paying attention. “What?” I asked. “I have no clean underwear.” He said again. I’m still not getting it. Then it hit me, oh my god, HE WAS WAITING FOR ME TO WASH HIS UNDIES. But I wasn’t here all week. What.

“Uh yeah. I’ve been out of town. So you’re telling me while I was gone, you didn’t manage to wash your own underwear??? Long pause.

Then I kept unpacking, focusing on what I was doing and blurted out “Don’t ask me that again” Honestly I didn’t know what else to say!

And on that very day, the PLL was born. The Personal Load of Laundry. My husband takes his PLL so seriously now that he has his own laundry basket and no one else can use it. He washes all his whites and darks together and his tighty whiteys are more like tighty Blueys but whatever. It’s his PLL and he can do whatever he wants with it.

Because I’m not doing it. I’m not touching it. Nope. The pressure of making sure a grown adult has clean underwear is not the kind of pressure a sleep deprived working mom needs. The pressure of trying to mail a birthday card or get to Walgreens to pick up prescriptions is big enough. Make sure the birthday card isn’t late! And we can’t let a day go by without allergy medicine, everyone knows that a sniffly nose turns into an ear infection real quick!