Posted: March 23, 2013 in Life
Tags: , , , ,





9 years ago you had three shirts. You took me out on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That accounted for three, which left Saturday for laundry day. With the grace of hard work, the intervention and my introduction on thee existence of the garment industry, within a leisurely held pace, you had four, then five…

Although the obvious never suggested itself, I, later on in our marriage pondered, how did 3 shirts become a few dozens of clothes? That’s rhetorical. I wasn’t really mulling over the exaggeration of your attire. I slowly latched on every single time I persecuted and tormented myself at the laundry mat, self pitying and satisfying my mind to the thought that I am not your maid.

I have many ways of parading how much I adore you and it may sound silly and absurd but this is one of the few things I do to flaunt how deeply I am in love with you.

The relevance of washing your clothes to my passionate feelings for you is vast and intense.

I touch your dirty, stinky, big, heavy clothes and turn them immaculately decontaminated. I neatly slide them onto hangers and perfectly fold to form the creases of your pants. I wash your clothes because I love you.

You are one lucky fellow.


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