Home » Just Like a Turd That Won’t Flush. . .

Just Like a Turd That Won’t Flush. . .

I’m no laundry superstar.

I don’t sort.  I don’t  bleach.  I don’t pretreat.

We have “regular laundry” which is (nearly) everything and it gets washed on cold.  And we have diapers.  They get washed in the super hot sanitary cycle.

That’s it.  With no fewer than two loads of laundry a day, that’s all I can handle.

I don’t check pockets.  I don’t obsessively yank things that could wrinkle out of the dryer immediately. 

Yet, despite our nearly decade and a half together, sometimes my Husband still forgets I’m a complete laundry slacker.  Sometimes he reverts to the apparent laundry nirvana of his youth.

He does things like tying stained clothes into a knot before putting them in the hamper.

Um yeah, if I’m not checking pockets, the odds of my finding a shirt that is tied in a knot are very slim.

(I will mention that my Husband is perfectly willing to help with the laundry.  But because he’s at work all day, I’m typically the one doing it. . .An unfortunate situation for him since he’s way more careful with the laundry than I am.)

In my world, if you get a stain on something, consider it permanent.  And since most of my own clothing is crap and most of the kid’s clothing is akin to disposable, my stand on stain treatment isn’t very controversial. . .

EXCEPT for poor Chris, who wears dress shirts and pants and ties to work every day. . .

He’s expected to look presentable on a daily basis.  And his clothes don’t cost under $10 a piece at Target (or have elastic waistbands but that’s another post entirely).

So when Chris gets something menacing on a shirt, ties it in a knot, and tosses it in the hamper. . .

You guessed it. . .

I typically don’t figure it out until I pull the shirt out of the dryer and think, “Ugh, Self, why in the hell is this shirt sleeve all knotted up?  Oh crap!  STAIN!!  STAIN!! There was a stain somewhere on this shirt!”

Which of course, I’ve just “set” by running it through the dryer through three cycles until my lazy ass decides to pull the crap out of there and fold it.

That was the fate of Chris’ pale pink shirt.  He got something on the front of it. . .a little drip.  It appears suspiciously greasy. . .like barb-b-que sauce. . .But it happened so long ago, not even he can remember the origin of the stain.  (Or it could be some classified substance he can’t discuss with me).

Either way, I unknowingly washed that sucker on cold, without pretreating it and then put it in the dryer.

Chris very graciously didn’t say a word about my oversight.  Instead, he took the shirt back to the laundry room and placed it in the little tub we use to occasionally soak things).

THIS OCCURRED SOMETIME BEFORE MAC WAS BORN.  (Over TWO YEARS AGO!)

Any time I needed that little tub, I’d remove the shirt and place it off to the side. . .FOR TWO YEARS!

Yes, I moved a shirt through two winters worth of hand washing cashmere.  Two years of soaking rags we use for cleaning.  At least a year of scrubbing Mac’s muddy shoes. . .Two years of craft projects and fabric dyeing.  TWO YEARS I SHUFFLED THIS DAMNED SHIRT AROUND.

About two months ago, I decided I had reached my limit.

“Honey, can we talk about the pink shirt in the basement?”

“What about it?” Chris asked.

Frankly I’m shocked he still remembered the stupid thing.

“Well, are you aware it’s been down there for more than two years?”

“Really?” Chris said, clearly surprised.

“Really.  It’s had that stain on it since before Mac was even born.  Do you think it’s time we just get rid of it?  I mean, if you haven’t worn it in two years, you probably don’t need it, right?”

“But it was a good shirt.  It just has a little stain on it.  Can’t we try to get the stain out of it?” He asked innocently.

Ok.  You’ve got me.  It was a good shirt.  It’s just a stupid teensy stain.  We should at least try.  It’s wasteful to throw it away without trying.

“Well, I’m kinda’ sick of looking at it and shuffling it around.” I sighed.

“Maybe you will have some luck getting the stain out?” He said in a tone that implied this was a challenge. . .that I couldn’t do it.

Even the HINT of a challenge is all I need to set my Type A personality into high gear.

“I’ll bet I CAN get that stain out!  I’ll try!  I’m going to start right now!” I exclaim skipping down the basement stairs.

“Hey!” I holler up the stairs as I rip the shirt out of the laundry tub, “You have any idea what it is?”

“No!” he replied.

Well, crap.  If I have no idea what the hell it is, how am I supposed to Google a stain treatment?  Sonofagun, I’ve been had!  I’m going to fail miserably.  He set me up!

For days, I worked on the shirt.  I’d treat it with something.  Soak.  Wash.  No dryer.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.

Every morning, the stupid stain was just as I’d found it.  That vexing little asshole of a stain wouldn’t even fade!  It was clearly taunting me.

I started to mix crazier and crazier stain treating concoctions.  At one point, I was worried the mix in the washtub would create a caustic chemical reaction resulting in a small explosion.

Still, the stain persisted.

At the end of the week, I was astounded the shirt didn’t have holes or frays in it from all I had subjected it to. . .

“Chris, I just can’t get the stain out of the shirt.  Without knowing what it was, I don’t have much hope I can fix it.” I sighed in a defeated tone.  “Plus, I’m certain we* set the stain in the dryer years ago.  Do you think we should get rid of the shirt?”

Chris paused for a minute to absorb my news.

Come on baby, say the word.  I’ll toss that thing out so fast your head will spin.

“You know who could fix this?”  He said.

A fucking drycleaner?  Martha frigging Stewart?  Heloise?  WHO?  If you know who could fix it, why the hell are you just now mentioning it?  My damned hands are cracked open from being doused in stain treatments all week!  It sat in our basement for TWO years!

“Who?” I asked attempting to hide my irritation.

“My Dad.  My Dad is really good at getting stains out.”  Chris said proudly.

Well that’s just wonderful.

“Great!  That’s easy.  Give your Dad the shirt.  See what he can do.”  I said racing to the laundry room to get the shirt.   “Here, put it in the trunk of your car RIGHT NOW (so I never have to see this bitch again) so we don’t forget it the next time we see him.”

Of course, we DIDN’T remember.  Chris drove the shirt around for at least another month. . .but I didn’t care.  It was out of my way.

And then Saturday morning, I awoke to find this:

Shirt 1

It’s BACK.  WHAT IS THAT DOING BACK HERE?!

“Um, Chris?!”

“What, Baby?  I just put it out so I could give it to Grandpa after he takes Mac to the park.  Be cool.  It’s not staying.”  Chris cooed at me.

Except after the park and lunch, Grandpa beat feet out of here – no doubt because Mac damned near killed him – and I found the bag by the door!

Shirt 2

“Grandpa forgot your shirt.” I mumbled at Chris.

“How convenient for him,” Chris laughed.

This is no damned laughing matter!  This thing is like a freaking turd that just won’t flush!  It’s making me bonkers.

And at 5:15 this morning, I caught a glimpse of Chris sneaking the bag with the shirt in it back down the basement stairs.

After he left for work, I crept down to the basement, hoping to find the shirt in the trash.  Because really, haven’t we had enough already?

Instead?

Instead?!

I found THIS!

Shirt 3

I GIVE UP!

*That of course means me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10 Responses to “Just Like a Turd That Won’t Flush. . .”

  1. Your husband and mine would get along swell 😉
    Anita @ Losing Austin recently posted…Not in the Happy EndingMy Profile

  2. Dani Ryan says:

    Ha!

    The Hubs came home on Friday, and he was moving his arms weird. When I asked what was wrong, he said his blazer felt tight on him all day. I didn’t have the heart to remind him it was the same blazer I accidentally threw in the wash a few weeks ago. 🙂
    Dani Ryan recently posted…10 reasons I enjoy mall walkingMy Profile

    • admin says:

      I cannot believe that blazer survived the wash! That’s pretty amazing. Of course, you might have to cut slits in the armpit lining so he gets his full range of motion back but it’s a small price to pay right? I still owe you an email from last Thursday? I haven’t forgotten. 🙂 XO

  3. Rick says:

    I’ve pulled some dastardly tricks on my wife under the pretense of ignorance…But I don’t think I could ever pull that one off without it being shoved where the sun doesn’t shine.

    • admin says:

      Ha! Is there any chance your wife is good at stain removal? Or you? Do either of you do laundry well? I’m willing to compensate generously. 🙂

  4. Carol says:

    LOL, Maybe you should perform a ceremony and bury the thing in the back yard? Make it official?

    • admin says:

      I’m considering a freak and unfortunate “bleach” accident at this point! Ha!

      PS We went to Home Depot last night. Mac loves to check out the ceiling fans for some reason. When we were in the lighting department, I kept looking at all the domed ceiling lights and chuckling thinking about your Tweet! Ha!

  5. Jennifer says:

    You could always go the route of embellishment. A pretty little pink daisy stitched on over the offending spot will probably ensure that you will never receive special laundry surprises again 😉

    • admin says:

      I LOVE that idea! Maybe I should just try to move the pocket? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a pocket half covering the placket where the shirt buttons. . .I’ll attach it completely crooked for good measure!