I'm on the verge of going postal. The clothesline move will be used, with maximum irony since my postal-ness is specifically in relation to laundry and #1Hubby.
I swear that man grabs a heap of wet washing and hurls it at the clothes line.
Wherever, however it ends up, he whacks a few random pegs on stuff to hold it in place.
I don't iron. His method of hanging clothes doesn't fit well with my strict anti-ironing policy. Everything comes off wrinkled and crinkled.
Also, I get a little twitchy at the complete lack of symmetry.
Some would say anal, but I prefer to say neat and even.
Everything has an order in which to be hung. Everything should be evenly spaced for maximum air flow.
And for the love of Vodka, there should be nothing tripled over and wrapped around the bloody clothes line three times before being pegged.
He swears he can't see the many outrageous issues with his poor excuse for a clothes hanging method.
He claims it is not deliberate.
I'd go so far as to say that he is even amused by the steam coming out of my ears, and what he labels as my unhealthy obsession.
So lately I've been trying to sneak outside and catch him in the act, fully expecting to see him standing at least 3 feet away and catapulting the clothes onto the line.
It is really giving me the shits. So much so that it warranted a whole blog post.
I know, I know, I'm all kinds of ungrateful whiney wife - but what is the point in helping with the laundry, when you're doing it wrong.
I think he knows I'm trying to catch him out. Every time I creep outside attempting to look totally casual and not at all suspicious like, he is waiting for me as I round the corner - just standing underneath the clothes line, arms folded, wet washing waiting to be hung out.
He stands there like that and makes stupid small talk until I go back inside. He won't hang a thing while I'm standing there. Bastard is messing with me.
I have to wait forever for him to leave so that I can go back out and correct his work.
If I catch him out, I'm going to slap him upside the head with a pair of my wet, freshly washed Mummy Tummy super sucker undies, wet fish style.