A domestic interlude

Elisar and I have been married seven years. At this point we’ve managed to sort everything out in the home so that it works relatively smoothly. He does the cooking and washing up, I do the laundry. Sorted.  There is a reason for this.

We just got back from holiday. Yesterday, Eli announced he was going to do laundry.  He asked if there was anything I needed washing and I asked for my day to day clothes to be washed. Off he toddles.

He washes my bikinis, the beach towels, my evening dresses and his shirts and trousers. Everything BUT my day clothes.  He hadn’t realised what my day clothes were…or so he says.

So, yeah. If you spot a woman walking around North London in a bikini or an evening dress, that’s probably me. Do say hi.


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