It's Me, Sara Louise

Alright kids, it’s like this… I’ve got nothing. Seriously. Nothing going on here. I can neglect my blog, or we can travel back in time with an old post from the archives. So yeah, that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going back two years… to a simpler time, a time when The Husband was The Boyfriend and Le Petit Village had been my home for only a few months.

Originally titled Should Have Bought the Dyson and posted on 27th January 2010
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I wanted this…

I got this…

I begged for the Dyson but The Boyfriend wouldn’t hear it;

“€3oo?! For a vacuum?”

“Yes, but it’s worth it. They last forever and nothing cleans like a Dyson.”

This is the conversation we had in July when I was visiting Le Petit Village before moving here. We were making a list of things that we needed to have when I arrived in September. It was a short list because I wanted us to buy most things together after I arrived (The Boyfriend needs to be supervised while shopping. He’s been known to go rogue. One time he tried to buy a 3D Mohammad Ali poster for our living room). But there were somethings that couldn’t wait, like a washer, dryer, and a vacuum.

The washer dryer, oh the washer dryer!

Our house does not have a place for both a washer and a dryer. If we had a back garden to hang the clothes out, I would be happy, drying the clothes and being kind to the environment at the same time. Fantastic! But we don’t have a back garden. So as crappy as they can be sometimes, an all in one washer and dryer was required. I said this to The Boyfriend. Of course I got the normal male response,

“But they’re so expensive”.

Yes, they are about €150 more than a straight washer but what choice did we have? We need the washer dryer. I didn’t want our house looking like an old Chinese Laundry with wet clothes drying over every radiator and chair.

He obviously didn’t get the point and why would he? I’m the one that would be doing the laundry. And this is not a sexist Suzy Homemaker thing. I like doing the laundry. When I do the laundry I know that the clothes get washed and ironed, and then lovingly folded and put in their proper designated place in wardrobe, dresser, or closet.

The Boyfriend does not do laundry. Only when there is literally nothing else for him to wear and he can no longer locate a bed, chair or couch underneath dirty clothes. Then, he will find someone to do laundry for him.

Case in point – The Boyfriend was visiting me in Dublin. I met him at the airport and hugged him. At this point I noticed that his white shirt seemed a bit grey around the edges. The rest of the clothes he brought with him were also dirty. We had to go shopping for new clothes. Who packs dirty clothes? Now you know the answer.

A month before I moved here, The Boyfriend phoned me very pleased with himself,

“I got a washing machine.”

“Oh, that’s great” I was thrilled to be able to cross something off the list.

And then he said,“But where are you going to dry the clothes?”

Sometimes The Boyfriend’s memory is not the best… rugby damage.

Huge sigh from my end. And then a few deep breaths. And then I used my colorful vocabulary reserved for special occasions.

So now when I do laundry, I have to hoof it to Boyfriend’s Brother’s house and hang the clothes on his line. This is a pain in my petunia.

And as far as the vacuum goes, needless to say I didn’t get the Dyson. I arrived in September to a little red vacuum bought on sale for €40. And I got about €40 worth of cleaning out of it. It died this morning, only four months old, making the most pitiful sound on it’s way out. I think I’m going to throw a party. Me, the little red vacuum, and a baseball bat. I have some emotions I would like to share with the little red vacuum.

As soon as The Boyfriend arrives home tonight as much as I try to hide it, I’m sure my face will be plastered with it’s I told you so smirk.

Sidebar – I swear, I am not as high maintenance as I seem. I’m just a little anal, a tad controlling, with a healthy dash of OCD.