Where Are My Pants?!!!

I came home from Thimbleberries Club tonight earlier than normal, so I was looking forward to spending a little quality time in the Sweat Shop. I'd stopped at the grocery store for a couple things on the way home, and after putting away the groceries, I went into the bedroom to change out of my work clothes and into my play clothes.

I don't have a lot of pairs of pants. About 20 years ago, I realized that just about everything goes with black pants, so that's what I have--three pairs for work, and three pairs for play, along with one pair of jeans. My "play" pants look decent and are comfortable for sitting around sewing. I have tons of tops for work and play and they all look fine with black pants or jeans. Simple really.

The only problem is that Hubby does the laundry. Back at the dawn of time, when he and I divided up the household duties, he took laundry. And yes, the Wild Child and I often wash our own things because he doesn't really "get" that girl stuff can't necessarily be washed, dried, left in the dryer for two days, and then stuffed into a laundry basket for four more days like guy clothes can.

Sometimes I think it would be a lot less aggravating to just take over doing the laundry altogether, but I just can't get past that niggling little thought that men purposely do things poorly so they can get out of doing them. Besides, why should I work all day and come home and do all the household chores?

On the down side, sometimes I find I have no clean pants for work, and I have to scramble to get my pants washed and dried in the morning. So I try to be conscious of what the clean versus dirty pant inventory is, because I really hate when that happens.

Anyway, you probably don't need the whole back story, but I thought I'd set the stage--or maybe it's just that I need to vent a little.

This morning, as I do every day or two, I sorted through some clothes that had accumulated on the chair next to my side of the bed, and took a few things out to the laundry hamper; I left on the chair a top and a pair of pants that I'd only worn an hour or two a few evenings ago; I figured they were good for another couple hours after work tonight. And when I went to change out of my work clothes tonight, I changed into the top I'd set aside, but I couldn't find the pants. Had I accidentally grabbed them and threw them in the laundry hamper?

I checked my closet, and as I expected, I found no pants. Pants-less now, I went out to the livingroom to ask Hubby if he had any idea where my pants were, and as it turned out, he did. They were in the dryer with all my other pants. Because he was going to do a load of laundry anyway and he knew how I get a little riled up when I don't have any clean pants to wear, he thought he'd gather up all the pants and wash them.

I'd like to tell you that I killed him then and there, but the thought of what the press would make of a half naked, pants-less murdering wife was hard to overcome, even in a fit of rage.

Tomorrow morning while I'm at work, the Dish TV guy is supposed to come fix the TV receiver. Wouldn't it be funny if I locked all of Hubby's pants in his car while he's still sleeping, just before I leave for work? You know what they say about payback, right?

Well, I suspect the dryer's done now, so if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go put on my pants. My legs are getting a little cold.