Simply put, I am incapable of understanding how laundry works: In my head, I hear: That will shrink, that needs to be pre-treated, this needs bleach, that has to be dry-cleaned only, that will set the stain, don’t bleach that, dry on hangers-only, cold: not hot, hot: not cold. Delicate Cycle. DELICATE CYCLE, Moron!
And, I freeze.
I am, admittedly, woefully incompetent in the ways of laundry. Woefully.
To compound my difficulty, Isabella, the 6-year-old, is rummaging through my latest efforts.
Iz: What’s this?
Me: A T-shirt.
Iz: And this?
Me: Underwear. Please stop.
Oh, God. We’re going there?
Iz: Hahahaha!
Not gonna stop.
Iz: And this?
Me: A bra. It helps support boobs.
Iz (with a demonic grin): Boobs?
Me: Yes, girls develop breasts, which we sometime call “Boobs.” I don’t understand the snaps or the clasps or the laces or the embroidery. But, bras support a girl’s boobs when she jumps and runs.
Iz: Hee Hee. But… You kinda have boobs, too, Daddy. You’re gonna need one.
Crap.
Me: I’m really not that fat, Honey. But, thanks for your concern.
Iz: Why does Mommy’s have polka-dots?
Me: I don’t know. She likes polka dots, I guess.
Iz Does yours?
Me: Again. I don’t have one.
Iz: Not yet….