Mr.Q does brilliantly, really, he does. He cooks, he sometimes cleans and he occasionally helps fold laundry [though he does seem to have his own special way of folding things….] and he always ends up booking Valentines Day-ish dinner.
But he is, at heart and mind, a guy. He forgets things. He doesn’t realise things. He ignores things. He forgets things.
Having dressed his daughter for daycare in the morning in an orange shirt, he picked her up in the afternoon and brought her home in a pink shirt. And not just any pink shirt. A bright pink shirt that we do not own. In his defense, and as he pointed out, we do have a green shirt from the same store. But it was not the Magpie’s shirt and certainly not the one she left the house with earlier that same day.
So, it was washed and returned to the daycare to be passed on to its rightful owner. Apparently there had been a grand hand-washing incident in which many children decided to try out the surgeon scrub variation of cleanliness: water and soap up to the armpits. Five outfits were changed and it only seems reasonable to have a few shirt swaps.
Oh well. It gave me the final excuse to run a load of laundry. That Mr.Q sort of helped fold.