By the seat of his pants

A few weeks back – before we left for the icy hub that is Canberra I dropped off three pairs of The Artist’s work pants at the dry-cleaner.  He has four.

It was opportune to do it then because he did not need them for a week (obviously) when he can wear one pair of jeans over and over again.

On our return a week went by and I didn’t get to pick up the three pants.  Then another week went by.  It became a game.  I was waiting you see, for The Artist to ask where his pants were.  But nothing.  And three weeks became four.  Then it became a challenge.

I had occasion to visit the dry-cleaner on Wednesday to get Miss16’s blazer done as it was being reassigned to Miss13.  This has been another exercise/challenge in the waiting game.  I have noticed that both their blazers and jumpers for school have been getting smaller by the week.  Miss16 reached critical mass last Monday and Miss13 is just the lucky recipient of bigger stuff as someone had to obviously take one for the team.  They keep me busy tracking their tenacity and their ability to go the distance this family.

Two days after the return of the pants I asked The Artist if he was happy to see them. Well! I received a diatribe of rhetoric about how his pants (the pair he wore for four weeks) were able to stand up alone, walk over to him and in fact they pretty much could dial the space station.  He then asked whether I had noticed him buying alot of socks.  In fact I had.  Apparently he needs a clean pair every day.  Every, single, day. Hahahahahahaha!  (I personally think he’s trying to find a comfortable brand and is working his way through the multitude of options at DJ’s but that’s just my take on things.)

The thing is, it totally gives me the shits to put pairs of socks together.  It’s a thankless task.  And with mens socks they tend to look so similar.  The Artist is also not shy to whinge about different socks fraternising in the same pair – seriously – no-one even sees them under the pants.  So to go back to the topic at hand, they (the socks) often languish (washed and all) in the wash basket in the laundry because I cannot be assed to put them together.

I think it was the hope when I started working from home that things of this nature might just happen naturally but sadly it is not to be.  If you hate doing the socks, you hate doing the socks.

p.s. the drycleaner argued like nobodies business that I did not in fact have pants in waiting at his shop.  When I produced my docket he looked at the date, looked at me, gave me the hairy eyeball, shook his head and went digging in the recesses of his rack where he was clearly about to do a street sale to defray costs.  He also feels that The Artist deserves cleans pants – good thing he doesn’t know about the socks (or the underpants – let’s not talk about the underpants).

Love and light
Lauren xxx

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