Seriously, something like that for me, well it’s just like winning lotto. It is really a big deal.  For those readers that don’t know of my family, you need to understand my husband suffers from an illness. Unfortunately as my sons have grown, I have witnessed them with the same symptoms.  (I have Sympathy cards  for when the time comes and they announce their Engagements, each future daughter-in-law will get one)  This illness I believe is a gene passed from father to son.  Some of my female readers may already be experiencing this disability with their partners. Others will have surely heard of it. It’s called the ‘Lazy Arse Syndrome’.   

Very little effort needs to be made to trigger symptoms, it basically comes naturally, and for my husband, it seems he doesn’t even have to try.  A simple request to get the washing out of the machine as you are running out the front door, he calling back “Yeah, no worries.”  Can and does easily trigger an episode. 

Now think about that one little request and then how that one simple sentence can go so wrong.  To the newly attached, you would be confident that one request is very simple, and you would assume the task would be been done by the time you arrive back home from work,  right?  To the older generation, who have experienced the ‘LA Syndrome’, you already know what I came home to. 

I walked through the door, unpacked the kids, unpacked bags and headed to the laundry, and there it was. It had been sat next to the back door. A large washing basket, full of wet clothes.  Well being the caring, sensitive wife that I am, of course I shrugged it off and calmly walked to where he was. I politely, using  mono-tone,  made enquiries as to how he spent the day. ‘So, how was your day? Flat-out at home were you? Catch up on all your soapies did you? Get your highest score on the computer game?” And it’s usually about the fourth question being asked, without  time given to him to actually answer, that he starts to get the smallest inkling that he is in deep, but  yet still has no idea as to why. 

“What? What have I done?” To which of course you can only imagine, I calmly respond, “I asked you to hang out the washing.”  Not quite having caught on yet to the error of his way he says, “Hang on a minute, you said to get the washing out of the machine, and that’s what I did. You didn’t say anything about hanging it out.” OK, duly noted. 

So time goes on and you become more aware on how to handle this ‘LA Syndrome’, and of course, work out ways in which to outsmart it.   

Now don’t get me wrong, he does try, but guidance is still needed, even after 25 years.  Should the guidance that I give, happen to give me a laugh at the same time, well that’s the bonus to being such a wonderful wife. 

 I had cooked a bake dinner.  Leg of lamb, plenty of vegetables, and was just finishing off making the gravy, when I spied hubby parking his backside at the dinner table. So I continue on, dishing up. I call out to the kids, they come and grab their plates and head off into the darkness, at the same time, hubby has grabbed his plate. Sat down, and commences to eat.

Game on I say. I take my time organising my plate, and eventually sit at the opposite end of the table, sitting there watching him eat. He looks up, with the last piece of meat in his mouth and says “What?” To which I reply “I don’t know, I just had a piece of the meat and it tastes off (his face now turning white) what do you reckon, does it feel slimy?  I mean I’d hate you to eat it and get food poisoning.” (His stomach starting to spasm, sweat on his forehead)   I deliberately smell my piece of meat on the fork “Yeah, definitely smells off, whatever you do, don’t eat it.”  He drops the fork and is ready to bolt to the bathroom. Now it’s at this time, I could be nasty and allow him to run off to the bathroom and try his best to bring his dinner up, but I’ve had my fun. That is why we get married isn’t it?

So over the years, he has slowly been trained on techniques to overcome the LA Syndrome, but still lapses. Like today, I find that the frying pan has been washed up. Yay, that’s wonderful, it’s been done without being asked to do it. But tell me, why is there that need to only wash it up and leave it to drain on the sink? Why can’t they wipe it up as well and put it away?  Well if we find an answer to that, then the LA Syndrome will no longer exist. However, while I’m waiting I will hang onto those Sympathy cards for the future daughter-in-laws.