Every time the Wif’s family is living with us, I migrate my life around. This includes the great bathroom cleaning, work clothes facilitation for the work week, and sheltering in place for my gear. Today when I got home, after only a few short days of normality, I came home to my laundry of having migrated itself.
See, I have my own bathroom, partly to load balance, partly to enable dual showering, and partly to not interfere in her bathroom. As a red blooded American male, I leave my spoiled laundry to languish on the floor, facilitating my occasional need to double dip on a pair of pants or prioritize cleaning based on utility rather than some base characteristic like timeliness or filth level. On the other hand, my clothes, which are totally in a room she had no need to ever enter, and the way they are displayed for me to peruse in seconds, stress her it. I, in the name of peace, choose to acquiesce.
As it is, one of my numerous todos, has been to migrate things that aren’t mine further away from things that are. So I have a closet in the den. It has incredibly useful things like sleeping bags, an unused snowboard, a couple of helmets and a wedding dress. Now admittedly, my blood is probably forever stuck in those button loops on the dress, but that is the extent of possession.
Well that’s getting fixed. I took out some recycling and verified the closet is now accessible. So this stuff is getting taken care of. Soon, my clothes will be happily defended and in a place of my choosing.
Peter's stuff.