Josh, gem of a human that he is, usually does all the laundry. I hate doing it. Perhaps that verb is a tad strong, but I do find it a difficult task. I'm always afraid I'm going to break the washer, ruin our clothes and flood the house with detergent. And I can't reach the clothes line very well either. Last weekend, however, I overcame my fears of absolute failure and washed three loads! (Applause) I found hanging the laundry to dry a meditative experience of all things. I felt light afterwards. Happy. Calm. As if I'd summoned all my virtues to complete the dreaded chore. Check it out (Warning to families: pictures of underwear below):
I hung my husband's shirt.
I hung my husband's shirt.
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| With loyalty. |
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| I hung his boxers with happiness and in the spirit of service. |
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| I hung his shorts with detachment. Our towels with humility. |
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| I hung his pants with diligence and joy. |
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| I hung Max's shirts with sacrifice and hope. |
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| And Spongebob Squarepants underwear should only be hung with friendship. |
