The Kingdom Of The Pink Shirt

Like many of you, I spent my Sunday with a bag of chips, a bottle of beer, and my best friends surrounding me, so that I could watch the football game. Thrusting my fists into the air, and chest bumping those around me, in a primitive, manly display of camaraderie. We watched the various games, and the women folk sat in the kitchen and chatted, only venturing into our “man-cave” to make certain that our beer bottles were full, and our chips were plentiful. It was the way God intended things to be.

It was also a filthy lie.

Not me.

It’s what I would have WANTED to do. But, my friends wives wouldn’t let them come over, and my wife didn’t want a bunch of screaming, crying men over at the house.

So, I watched the games with a box of reduced fat Cheez-Its, and a bottle of diet pepsi. I also had to do it in the room with the smaller TV. You see, there was this HGTV show on, about remodeling your bathroom, and my wife really wanted to watch it. So, you know….I went into the other room. It was still cool, though. If I sat really close, it LOOKED like a big screen. It’s a small victory. But, I’ll take ‘em where I can get ‘em.

I also had to do one other thing, while I was watching the game(s). It’s a small thing, that’s hardly worth mentioning. Honestly, I hesitate to even bring it up…….

I had to fold clothes.

I don’t ever recall my father having to fold clothes while HE was watching the football games. In fact, I don’t recall my father EVER getting off the couch, for ANYTHING.

I’m gonna go ahead and blame women for this. You see, something odd has happened over the years between my dad growing up, and me growing up. Women, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, but women got all uppity.

My father has NEVER folded an article of clothing. I doubt he even knows HOW the clothes get folded. He probably thinks it gets done by the “Mystical Clothes Fairy.” Never heard of her? I’m guessing she’s the same one that my dad thinks washes the clothes, because he’s NEVER done that, either.

Not his youngest son.

Nope.

Not only do I wash AND fold clothes, but I have been known to iron them. Though, I have found that an easy way to get out of ironing clothes is to occasionally burn something. While your wife may TELL you that she doesn’t care what you look like when you go out, the truth is that she doesn’t want people knowing that she’s married to some bonehead who A) burns his clothes, and B) wears them, anyway. So, 7 times out of 10, you can get her to iron your shirt.

The problem is not so much that women got “uppity.” As the father of a daughter, I don’t want her scurrying all over the house, obsessed with the cleanliness of her bathroom, and waiting on some schlub, who still thinks that fire is something the gods do when they’re angry. No, I want my daughter to be one of those modern women, and I want whatever Neanderthal she ends up with to worship the ground she walks on. If he doesn’t, he’ll disappear. Poof! Just like that. It’s a big ocean, you know. People get lost. Happens every day. Sad, really. Someone drinks a little too much, decides to go for a swim in the ocean, and nobody ever sees or hears from them, again. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.

But, that’s neither here nor there.

The REAL problem is that, while they were teaching girls that they could be more than just housewives, they forgot to teach us boys how to fold clothes, and do laundry, and iron, and work that big thing in the kitchen that makes stuff hot.

And, let me tell you exactly what happens when you DON'T teach boys how to do these things. You get pink clothes.

Early on in my laundry-doing career, I was unfamiliar with the act of "sorting" clothes. This is where you take clothes of one color, and clothes of another color, and place them into different piles. Then, you wash ONLY ONE of these piles. The other pile, you place in a bag, throw in the trunk of your car, drive 20 miles in any direction, stop at a random house, and ask them if you can wash your bag of clothes in their machine. In this way, you will NEVER run the risk of washing a red shirt with a white shirt, thus creating a pink shirt.

It ain't pretty.

My wife: Why are you wearing a pink shirt?

Me: It used to be a white shirt.

My wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're dumb.

Me: Shut-up.

My Wife: Why are your socks blue?

Me: I washed them with my jeans.

My Wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're......

Me: Shut-up.

Such is my life.

But, then it gets worse. Just when you think you've figured out the complex formula for separating your clothes, they throw you a curve.

Tell me, ANYBODY, exactly WHAT pile does a red and white stripped shirt go into???

I'd really like to know.

AND, how come the red stripes don't turn the white stripes pink, but if I wash it with other white things I get a load of newly pink clothes!?!!!

What the heck!?!!

How do I NOT get a pink and red stripped shirt?

Is this some kind of magic shirt?

It goes against all the laws of physics, and other science-y things.

Look, I'm not saying that I wanna go back to caveman days, where the woman stays in the cave, while I go out and hunt. I'm just saying that, if we're going to teach young girls how to be corporate raiders, we need to start teaching young boys how to keep the reds and the whites away from each other.

If we don't, we're going to have a society filled with very successful, businesswomen. But, it will also be filled with lots of sad looking, overweight men wearing burn marked, pink clothes, with blue socks.

THAT'S the future that I see.....And it's not pretty.

Now, if anyone could get back to me on that whole "striped shirt" thing, I'd appreciate it.

Casey