Let me start this out by saying that I LOVE that my husband sometimes does the laundry. I also LOVE that he has at least some idea of what he is doing, and that everything doesn't come out pink. (I do like pink...but I don't want to be wearing pink socks everyday...thank you Honey!)

Now, let me tell you a story.

I come home from work on my lunch break today, feeling particularly all around yuck...and he (being the loving, caring man that he is) encourages me to go lie down and take a nap for 45 minutes. So I do. He wakes me up when I need to go back to work, and the following dialogue ensues:

Him: I'm going downstairs to check the laundry on the clothesline in the yard.

Me: Oh? What did you wash? (checking to make sure it wasn't red towels and white socks)

Him: All your panties.

Me: You hung my UNDERWEAR on the CLOTHESLINE??? (thoughts of the dirty peeping neighbor with my intimates flash through my head)

Him: Yea, why not? (as he exits the room)

Sure enough, I look out the window and there are several pairs of my unmentionables swaying in the breeze. Men just don't get it. If I figure out that any are missing...well, at least we'll be moving away soon.

The big deal is: the neighbor has given very intimate details about previous tenants' bedroom habits to our landlord...who happens to be my husband's uncle. He is all around just strange. Our yard is not fenced...and the clothesline is in clear view from the street. Anyone driving or walking by all morning got to see my undies. That just bugs me. I have just always dried underwear indoors. (mostly in the dryer) When I lived at my mom's I would occasionally put a bra on the line...but our backyard there was very private, most our neighbors were elderly women, and the line was over our deck not more than 10 feet from our usually open doorwall. Here...we have to go down the stairs, and out the front of the house and around to the back/side where the line is. Ah men. You can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.