What the fuck is this and how the fuck do I fold it?
It’s overflowing again.
Not the dirty washing. That I could handle. With the dirty washing, I know where I stand.
I’m talking about the clean clothes. The clothes that I, as a self-proclaimed considerate husband, need to put away. If only it were that easy. The pile contains complexities man could never dream of, precisely because man didn’t dream of them. Women did.
Please, please explain to me what the fuck this piece of cotton and string is that I hold betwixt my fingers. How could it possibly clad my darling wife. How does such a confusing array of fabric form into something even remotely resembling clothing.
This strap must go over the shoulder, but there’s only one of them. This extended surface must cover her breasts, but doesn’t appear large enough to do so. This dangly bit with a toggle might suggest it’s swimwear but the fabric is opaque and her modesty would be jeopardised.
Tell me, when one is faced with a boggle like this, what does one fold into what? What forms the front of the fold, what the back? There appears to be six straps for this particular piece — is my wife secretly hiding four shoulders that she will one day announce to me, casually, as if everything will remain the same? And what about the obvious neckline on this garment that…
