Laundry, (White)Lies and Lighter Fluid

It’s dirty. Mine is anyway. Laundry is what I do nights Big D is playing in pubs until 2am. It’s a zen rock garden chore. There has always been something calming about the process for me. The repetition. The smell of clean clothes. It’s one of my favorite tasks on our divide-and-conquer list of chores necessary to keep this show on schedule.

Laundry for me is more than piles in the hallway separated by color and water temperature. Clothes are sorted by texture, family member and purpose. There are show clothes and work clothes. Horseback riding clothes and softball/gym clothes. I am completely OCD about it and cringe when someone fucks up the chi and washes jeans with tee shirts in the same load.

I have removed everything from American Girl doll accessories to hair elastics and bobby pins from pockets. Fished candy wrappers, guitar picks and lip gloss from the recesses of the dryer bin. One time I pulled a phone number from my husband’s pocket. Then I blacked out.

Maintaining one’s balance as a rock wife takes a certain amount of investigative skills. My private dick senses kicked into hyper-overdrive.

Whose writing is this? Who is Roma? What area code is 818?

The voices in my head debated back and forth between “Kill him!” and “Certainly there’s a perfectly logical explanation for this.” I grabbed my phone and searched what cities fell under the 818 area code. I knew well what the answer was but I was desperate, hoping to prove myself wrong. I frantically scanned the fragmented parts of my grey matter trying to piece together where he had been the past week, both for work and the band. He played in Santa Monica last and this was a “show” load that had the shorts he was wearing that night in it. So much for having a zen moment.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I mumbled under my breath. So I walked into our bedroom, crumpled paper in hand, and did what any perfectly sane wife would do when she finds another woman’s phone number in her husband’s pocket.

I set it on fire.

If I kept this slip of paper as evidence the psychotic bitch stalker personality would take over. I would not only call the number but enlist the help of my BFF/PIC to find out where this hose beast lived and pay her a visit. I could tell from the 2nd grade like penmanship that this woman was either incredibly intoxicated when she attempted to earn my husband’s attention or had meat-paw hands with sausage links as fingers. I opted to go with the latter only because it made me laugh.

Several images of death, destruction and smorgasbords flashed through my head as I watched the paper disintegrate into wisps of smoke and flames. I dropped it into the toilet and flushed it, bidding Roma adieu. “Shit ends up at the bottom.” I hissed and went back to reclaim my zen. I suppose I can’t blame a girl for trying.

D and I talked calmly (I swear!) about it later that day. He claims he has no idea who Roma was or how he ended up with her number. “Someone must have slipped it in my pocket when I was at the pub.” he pleaded. I suppose its probable. To this day I am not entirely sure I buy into that theory. I do know that D has always had a tendency to omit details from me. In my heart I understand he does this for my own good and that it does not come from a place of being shady. I chose to let this go and not add any more fuel to the fire.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, you better fucking run!

That was his one.

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4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Elise
    Oct 07, 2012 @ 06:41:46

    Again…loved it. Keep them coming. Read this one whilst eating my eggs this morning. Made me laugh and almost choke. Perfect. :o]

    Reply

  2. Tanya
    Oct 07, 2012 @ 07:28:02

    AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Loved it, keep ’em coming V!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! \m/

    Reply

  3. Michelle
    Oct 07, 2012 @ 10:45:20

    I so enjoy your poetic language to describe the basic daily chores! I thank you for sharing your bits of life with us. It makes my journey with the daily grind not so lonely. Plus you make me laugh! You are adding years to my life!

    Reply

  4. Tony DiStefano
    Oct 14, 2012 @ 18:28:25

    Holy shit, V … now I love you more!

    Reply

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