In most cases, if I say white, he would say black.

I grew up reading books.  He grew up playing sports.

He loves a crowd and tons of people around all day long.  I love the solitude of an empty, quiet house.

I know many people wonder how we ended up together.  Some days I wonder too….but then there are some days that I know we are meant to be together.

Jon came into our marriage with 2 large Japanese windsocks, boxes of papers, clothes, sporting equipment, and a lack of domestic skills.  I came into our marriage with art, coordinating linens, clothes, and an overflow of domestic skills.

In an attempt to balance out the domestic responsibilities in our first few years of marriage, I tried to teach him how to cook.  This resulted in rice sandwiches for supper.  I quickly realized cooking was not a good idea for this man, even if it meant we got rid of all the leftovers.  Or perhaps he has an iron stomach.  I never gave us the opportunity to find out for sure, I just took back all the cooking responsibilities.

After awhile, I realized that laundry was possibly his sweet spot.  He quickly learned a few things about doing laundry:

• ALWAYS check the pockets.  Pens tend to explode in the dryer.
• Bleach does a great job of getting a stain out, but it also takes all the color out of your pants…
• Gum travels quickly to all garments when left in your favorite pair of shorts. 
• Jeans and white dress shirts do not make good load mates…

After awhile, it seemed Jon was really getting the hang of doing the laundry.  So much so, that I decided it was safe to put my clothes in his capable hands.

He gathered, sorted, washed, and dried those clothes like a pro.  One day I went to see how the laundry was progressing and was so happy to observe that he had a complete load of only pink and reds.  He was washing his winter coat that happened to be red and put only appropriate items with it.  What a guy!  My whites were safe in his hands. 

While Jon perfected his laundry skills, the winter temperature dropped abruptly and he found himself wearing his newly laundered red coat to NAIT every day.  It was so cold some days that he had to pull his hood up and cinch it up around his chin so he didn’t get frostbite while walking from the far off neighborhood where he parked the car for free.  He was often so cold from the walk in, that he wore his coat, hood and all, for quite some time indoors in an effort to warm up.

About a week later, he reached in to his locker to grab his clean, red winter coat only to feel something very soft, something very out of place, in this accounting student’s locker.  To his shock and horror, he found a pair of my red underwear stuck to the Velcro on the hood of his clean, red winter jacket.  The underwear had cleverly spread out and attached itself to the whole hood of the coat by finding 4 or so points of contact with Velcro.

He quickly ripped my matching red underwear off his hood and shoved them into the pocket of his coat.  How many people noticed the underwear stuck to his head, but failed to mention it to him?  He walked down the halls of NAIT with a pair of my underwear stuck to his head for about a week, yet no one said a word.  Not a single word.

Perhaps sorting laundry according to color is not always the best choice.

Now we each do our own laundry – it’s just safer that way.