THIS JUST IN: SAHW NOT WHAT IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE!

It's true. Being a Stay At Home Wife is NOT all about watching Judge Judy, eating bon bons, and playing Bridge with The Girls. In fact, sometimes it sucks most of the time.

It's five parts getting up every morning with The Husband (TH) to make coffee, pack his lunch, and kiss him goodbye, because you feel guilty about not having to work.

It's four thousand parts letting the dogs in and out and in and out and in and out and IN, DAMMIT, NOW!

It's ten parts laundry.

Seriously. How did I ever do all of this laundry AND hold a full time job?

Conversation this morning:

Me: You are NOT going to work in that shirt.

TH: Why not? I love this shirt. It's clean -- I found it. In. The. Laundry Room. On a hangar. (vague passive-aggressive reference to the fact that I don't always move clean laundry to the closet). (okay, i don't EVER move it -- I figure it's the least he can do. Besides, I love seeing his cute little butt scamper down to the laundry room every morning.)

Me: You are NOT wearing that shirt to work.

TH: [Grinning, all sexy-like] [displaying shirt proudly] I look HOT.

Me: It's not ironed. You look wrinkly.

TH: It's fine. Who will know?

Me: Me and everyone else who knows 100% cotton -- and remind me not to let you go shopping with a Macy's giftcard without me next time.

TH: It looks FINE, honey. Seriously. No one will know or care.

Me: *I* will know AND care! Wear another shirt -- there are 27 shirts in the closet which are ironed and/or don't need ironing AND are clean.

TH: I LOVE THIS SHIRT. Fine. [huff] I'll iron it.

Me: NO. You. Won't. Watching you iron is like watching a glass cleaner on the 45th floor of the Sears Tower. Either give it to me and I'LL IRON IT or pick something else

Dog: WOOF! whine... WOOF WOOF whine (OUT! NOW!)

TH: I don't have anything else to wear.

Me: What are these 27 shirts in your closet?

TH: I like this shirt better.

Me: Why do we keep them -- better yet, why do I ....

********** Dog: WOOF! ***********

Me: [opening door for 20th time that morning] ... as I was saying, why do you keep them?

TH: In case I need one someday. They're... okay. You know, in a pinch.

Me: Honey, today is

********** Dog: WOOF! LET ME IN ***********

Me: *sighing* [letting dog IN] ... today is, in fact, a "pinchy" kind of "SomeDay".

TH: [scowling, looking at 27 shirts] None of them go with my pants.

Me: PICK ANOTHER PAIR OF PANTS.

TH: These are the only dockers that aren't too short or too long.

Me: blink
blink blink
What about these other 14 pairs of dockers that I wash and iron on a regular basis?

TH: They're too short... or too long... or... well, this one has a mustard stain on it. [indignantly points out minuscule pin-size stain]

Me: Then why do you keep them?

TH: Because they're fine for GOLF. [Like I should know this.]

Me: Tell you what. Give me the shirt. I will iron it. Then I am going to remove ALL 27 OF THESE SHIRTS AND 14 OF THESE SLACKS AND GIVE THEM TO GOOD WILL. And then we're going shopping. And, oh by the way, you need new undies. Those are embarrassing.

TH: What's wrong with THESE -- they're FINE. [demonstrating how undies could only barely pass as a jock strap; cotton almost completely removed from the elastic band in the back]

Me: *sigh* You're right, honey. You look fine. Have a nice day.

Good times.