Laundry Room Drama

Thus far, approximately 1/3 of my time is spent in the laundry room. Usually, it's pretty boring. Oh, once in a while I'll come across a quarter or a loonie, but that's about it. But today some rather dramatic events "unfolded" (I purposely used the word unfolded- rather humorous, isn't it- you know, because I'm doing laundry). Some of Geoffs khakis were in the laundry pile, I was going to just throw them in the wash when I noticed that the pocket area felt rather full. Thinking that this might be one of my lucky days when I find bills rather than just coins, I pulled out the wad. It was a notepad. Thinking it was just a notepad that he had hastily used to write orders on or something I gave it only a cursory glance. But it was a letter. Written in flowy script, with the I's dotted with hearts. So I read it. Seems one Ms. Wendy Waitress was writing Geoff a rather provacative letter. I asked him about it and he just told me to mind my own business and to stay in the laundry room and out of his business. So I don't know what to do. I guess I'm just making mountains out of molehills, like Geoff says.
Ha ha, ha. I'm so funny. I bet you were reading that, just getting ready to grab your torches and pithforks. No, no. It's untrue. I did find a letter, but it was like asking about days off and stuff, pretty mundane, I was actually wishing for something to get excited about. Sorry if that was in poor taste, but there wasn't anything really interesting to write about it so I thought I would weave a little fact with fiction. Writing fiction is what I do best. Well, actually I do it pretty mediocre, but if you count rejection letters a sign of success than I am plenty successful. OK. A sign of success they are not, but a sign or perserverance they are. And when it comes right down to it, in the end, perserverance is what it's all about. Tru dat you can't take it to the bank or buy your kids a Wii with it, but that's totally irrelevant. The kids are just as happy playing marbles. Well, if you count crying and cursing as happy.
No, the truth is that I don't often worry about Geoff cheating on me, even though he does work in a female dominated industry. Let's face it, Geoff isn't exactly the pick of the litter, so I think I should be OK in the affairsville department, even if I am slightly jilted in the romanceville department. It's a fair trade. Sorta.
Actually, Geoff and I haven't been seeing much of other. He totally could be having an affair. All the signs are there: the late night "meetings", reciepts from Days Inn which he claims are "business expenses", lipstick on his collar, annoying people coming up to me at Geoffs work, saying "Geoffs having an affair".
Kidding again, but he does work a lot. A fact which I have learned to live with. And more than that, recently I have discovered that not only do I tolerate it, I actually enjoy it. I like to have the house to myself. Watch Slice all day, have the house smelling like Vanilla Lavendar Glade rather than the smell of men- which is like socks and fart mixed together, maybe with a little bit of Old Spice in there. So then Geoff tells me that he's going to be off, OFF, completely OFF, for the months of January and February and half of December. So I feign my excitement. "Oh, great, we're going to spend so much time together!" and then sneak off to the bathroom to vomit. Is that wrong? Does that mean there's something wrong with our marraige? Or what? Well, truthfully, I didn't actually vomit. Just wretched a bit.
Oh, well, it will be interesting to say the least. And isn't that what it's all about, living on this big old rock in the sky?