Let’s face it, no one wants their mum to wash their laundry when you’re over 30 and it’s the weekend before ovulation do they?
Because amongst the laundry, she’s going to find my sexy lacy black underwear that I’ve been wearing, but she’s also going to find The Pants*
We all have The Pants don’t we? The ones that you sleep in once you’ve done the deed to protect the bed sheets.
Yep, The Pants are currently hanging on my mum’s washing line. Which means my dad will also see my lacy black underwear alongside them.
(I’m just bloody grateful I hadn’t put in The Mat to be washed as well…)
The problem is, our washing machine had been dying a death over the past fortnight. And last night it finally gave up the ghost, which meant an emergency call to my folks.
The best bit is they have offered to buy us a new washing machine as a wedding anniversary gift. When did my life suddenly become that middle-aged that white goods are considered presents?! FML.
But needs must, as we can’t kept taking our washing round theirs over the next week with all our semen-soaked bedding and biscuit-crotch underwear with all the sex we’ll be having over the next few days. Including today’s underwear after our 20 minute quickie over lunch before we headed out this afternoon (there wasn’t any time for me to lay down so it basically all ended up in my pants again throughout the afternoon!)
What stops me from getting embarrassed about this whole situation, though, is that I know full well my mum would also have had her own version of The Pants back in the day.
Not since the mid-1980s of course, because that was the last time they had sex…
PLEASE tell me that they wouldn’t need them now?!
(*Don’t worry, I had the foresight to put my underwear into a delicates bag first so that they didn’t need to be handled at all!)