I’ve just been hanging the washing out and I ended up fighting a tremendous battle with what appeared to be black legging and a black cami top. As it had all got knotted in the washing machine (yes, I know I overloaded it, but I got it all in), as I’m hang up the washing a gargantuan struggle of man verses damp laundry erupted and enfolded in the back garden.
Well, as any man would when confronted with a soggy laundry beast, I manfully wrestled it to the ground, where upon I tore the Gordian knot asunder, as I did so, the was a quite sssssshhhhrrip sound, and to the ground floated a very small triangle of purple lace fabric, no larger than my thumb. I picked it up and realised it was the T-back of one of DW’s nicer thongs (It has a transparent gauze front, which leaves little to the imagination and the sight of everything – not that anyone sees it other than me).
So lessons learnt.
Don’t let a stumpy fingered thug of a husband do your washing.
There is a case for washing intimates separately, but only if a stumpy fingered husband isn’t doing the washing.
Don’t overload a washing machine.
Separate everything first.
Do laundry more frequently.