One tries to do the best one can, the right thing and such. The only reward we seek is a smile and a thank you, but sometimes we wonder, is it worth it? Are we truly doing what’s right? We don’t often ask ourselves if our actions will be appreciated, we do it because it makes us feel good, we make a contribution to society, family or friends, and swell with pride at being a “good” person. Admittedly, there would be times when we do it because we might get into trouble if we don’t.
Looking at the black marking pen in my hand I wondered what outcome would emerge from the current situation. A smile and a “Thank you” with feeling, or a sarcastic “much appreciated” with glare, either would have made me feel better than I did at that moment. Being the eternal pessimist I imagined the best I could expect would be castration with dull knife, at least that wouldn’t be as bad as weeks of castigation with sharp tongue.
As a househusband I get up early in the morning to start the days chores knowing they wouldn’t be done by nightfall, but one lives in hope, rather futilely it seems. Habit led me to put the first load of washing on right away, doing other stuff while that was happening makes since. I’d found that I could usually do those dishes the boys had dirtied the night before, in the time that first load takes, dishes dirtied after my having done the dinner stuff and gone to bed by the way. Efficiency and time management, I can’t emphasise that enough, very important for househusbands.
There is an art to hanging washing, I utilise a white powder coated wire stand which lives under the roofed pergola, warm enough to dry there but shaded so sun fading is at a minimum, also protection from the occasional drizzle or downpour. Sheets and towels can go on the clothes line in the full sun, who cares about them. Shirts get placed on hangers and hung beneath the pergolas roof, on a specially constructed devise of my own design, efficient and labour saving, one and one half steps from the basket to the shower rod.
I had finished hanging the shirts and turned to the basket for the next priority item, socks, when I realised something was wrong. It was that fourth shirt from the end, the polo, I knew which number since I hang in precise patterns, Light, dark, light ,dark, it was the second dark. I hadn’t noticed when actually hanging it, but when I turned back to the basket it must have caught my eye. A stain on the right back shoulder.
It was reddish and clearly visible on the black shirt, a ring with a kind of dash under it. Looked like rust, I couldn’t think what would have caused it, but knew it would be my fault, everything is. Knowing bleach removed stains I went in that direction, but I was quick enough to stop myself before liquid met cloth. I tried Spray and Wipe, bathroom mould remover, carpet cleaner left from the last time, I think three years ago. Nothing worked, I had to do something as the boys had paid good money, mine, for 'brand' shirts and they were fanatical about their clothes. I'd been trying so long to save the shirt it was dry by now, despite never leaving my hands. The wife would be home soon and the second load was still in the washer.
I went inside to check the TV schedule and the women's magazines, perhaps one of those household hint shows/articles, No luck there, but on sitting down I had to move aside some cardboard and marking pens I’d used the night before while making cut out rabbits, long story for another time.
I looked at the marking pens and of course, the answer was right there. Simple, the stain was lighter than the shirt, I would color the stain to match. The pen said it was permanent and quick drying, perfect. Taking the shirt I spread it on the kitchen counter and carefully traced the stain, darkening as planned, It was working great, I’d wasted my time on all those commercial products. Picking the shirt up to check it, I saw the black ring on the counter top, I had a sinking feeling, like you get when your horse comes fourth.
Putting the shirt on the couch I went for the Spray and Wipe and a new Kitchen Wizard thing I found under the sink. Even scourers didn’t help. Thinking of disposing of the evidence, I picked up the shirt and wet my pants, there was a black ring on the couch, I couldn't believe it. The marker said “quick drying” I hadn’t seen a disclaimer on the damn thing, how long is quick? It also said permanent. That’s how I was standing when the wife walked in, shirt in one hand, spray bottle in the other, standing right between the counter and couch, doomed. The wife saw it all in a glance, they can do that you know. I wasn’t fast enough to explain anything before she looked me straight in the eye and said, “What have you done to your shirt? That's a black lipstick print with a line under it!” With mouth open but no sound emerging, I stared down at the shirt in my hand, the ring on the right back shoulder was now black, about twice as dark as the rest of the cloth.
I’d done the right thing, but the effort I’d put into it wasn't appreciated. I didn't even get a "Thank you"
JAWhite
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Other Stories About Househusband :
Generosity, Vanity and Dishes
House Husbandry
Tick Tock
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
