Day 10: Wash Everything in the F*cking House

Some people eat when they’re stressed out, some go on an alcohol binge, some people pick at their ear (guilty – stupid dry skin), and then some do laundry.  Lots of laundry.  She (you know the evil of which I speak) washes every load twice, then washes things that are clean already.  I’m sure most grown-ups are aware of how fucking expensive detergent is.  Electricity too.  I’m getting a little frustrated with dirty laundry of my own piling up and I don’t get the opportunity to run any of it through the wash because the detergent thief is usurping the whirlpool.

Manchild was kind enough to ask her to leave the washer and dryer open tonight to allow me to run bedding through the wash since it’d be nice for him to come home to halfway clean sheets after he’s discharged.  I’ve got dibs tonight and I’m scheduled for one load of clothes tomorrow.  This is fucking ridiculous.  Isn’t this my house?  Shouldn’t ‘guests’ be asking me if it’s okay to do laundry?  My parents do this when they stay with me, and I ask when I stay with them just to make sure they don’t need to do it first.  Whoever owns the appliances gets to call it.

Sure.  Just make yourself at home.  Drink all of my flavored coffee.  Use all of my detergent.  Eat all of my pantry food.  Eat everything in the fridge.  Use fifteen bath towels every day, then throw them on the floor so they get mildewy.  Run my electricity bill through the roof.  I don’t care.

Wait a minute…..yes I do.  It’s because I’ve had to deal with Harpy frequently that I’m also a great guest.  She’s a perfect example of what not to do when you stay with someone.

On the plus side, my parents got in this afternoon.  I figured they’d text me to let me know they made it to the RV park, but instead I hear, “Oh HIIIIII toilet clogger*!  I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”   My mother and her bubbly mouth/face/everything caught me by surprise.  The woman sparkles, and it’s not just because she had glitter on her face.  My Dad was playing his usual part of cranky toad.  Toadaly.  I kicked them out around 6:30 so the other fuckers could eat dinner and manchild could go back to bed.  The cardiologist and surgeon believe that the anxiety and knowledge of his condition are partially responsible for his symptoms following the acute episode almost 4 weeks ago.  30% aortic regurgitation with a normal ejection fraction of 60, according to them, shouldn’t be causing symptoms of heart failure, which he has.  He’s the expert of his own body and mental or not, he needs to rest because after surgery he won’t get much sleep for the first month or so.

My parents zipped out of that door like circus dogs.  I’ve got them well-trained!  I’m attempting to bequeath some of my skills to my husband, but he still refuses to say no to his parents, who keep telling him he needs to be “coachable”.  No, he needs to be a fucking adult and stick up for himself when his family treats him like a doormat.  If only I had as much power over him as they do.

*FIL’s name is not toilet clogger.  This man is a chronic clogger of toilets.  He made my upstairs toilet unusable for a week.  When he went toilet shopping to find a replacement after he killed theirs, he watched a video playing at the Home Depot of a toilet that could flush 26 golf balls in a single go.  “This is the one!!!”  Fiber and hydration are important kids.  Don’t be like FIL.


13 thoughts on “Day 10: Wash Everything in the F*cking House

  1. WWHD? (What would House do?)

    He would’ve put locks on the washer and dryer. Bought a safe for the laundry detergent and other expensive household staples. Installed an alarm on the refrigerator door. Put sleeping pills in their coffee. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I used to be Toilet Clogger. After EU regulations meant that UK bogs couldn’t have a handle or chain flush, we… we hoarded cisterns. One for me, one for Dad. IBS has removed my Giant Turd capabilities, and Age has taken my Dad’s, but I’m still glad for the Mega Flush. Oh, and when we were done, Dad and I would shout ‘Thar She Blows!’ and refer to our Turds as Moby Dick. My Mum LOVED us.

    Liked by 1 person

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