Marital Mayhem: Part 1: The Fluffers

In pictures of our daughter’s recent wedding, everyone looks happy and relaxed, not a care in the world. 

But trust me, just days before the wedding, high-stakes drama was unfolding. Literally.

It started with table linens. Once our daughter, Parker, discovered how expensive it was to rent them, she decided to buy them herself. However, she didn’t realize they also needed to be steamed and folded. Where was she going to find a couple of boobs willing to steam and fold TWENTY-ONE tablecloths?

Enter Boob #1 and Boob #2.

“Thanks so much,” Parker told Steve and I, as she piled a mountain of blue into our arms. 

“No problem,” Steve said sweetly.

“Yeah, no problem,” I echoed.

(Since the bride was under a wee bit of stress, Steve and I had agreed to respond with “No problem” to whatever she needed. Plus, how hard could it be to fluff and fold?)

So there we were, two nights before the wedding, in our airbnb ready to take on tablecloths.

We decided to throw each one into the dryer with a wet rag. After ten minutes, we pulled out the tablecloth, which was roughly the size of a ship sail. That’s when the real fun began.

“Fluff!” Steve commanded, as he clutched his side of the gigantic blue cloth. From my end, I waved my arms up and down, fluffing. 

But apparently my fluff wasn’t up to snuff because Steve kept calling out, “More fluffing! More! We’ve got to get all the wrinkles out!”

I continued to fluff, my arms waving frantically. Honestly, I was more flailing than fluffing, but it’s a fine line.

“Fluff! Fluff! Fluff!” 

Seriously, Steve? I’m over here using my arms, my legs, my core. 

I’m fluffing like I’ve never fluffed before.

Finally, when Steve felt like we had fluffed enough, we moved on to the next phase.

“Maybe we can take a break?” I suggested, wiping sweat from my forehead. “Watch a little Dateline, have a glass of wine?”

I was quickly informed there were no breaks at Steve’s Sweat Shop.

It was time to fold. Standing on opposing sides of the table, we each grabbed our portion of the well-fluffed fabric.

“Okay, fold left, now fold right, and…no, no, no, you’re doing the opposite!” Steve corrected.

“It was my left and my right,” I huffed. “If you want your left, say my left!”

Steve sighed. I rolled my eyes. 

“Okay, my left, my right. ” Steve said, as we continued. “That’s better, and left and right and …”

Look at us humming along, like a well-oiled machine.

“And fold, but make sure you’re on the crease,” Steve cautioned.

 “I am on the crease,” I insisted. “I think I know what a crease is!”

“I don’t think you do,” Steve mumbled.

 Calling me out on creases? We’ll save that one for the therapist.

“Okay, now smooth it out,” Steve said, “and smooth, and smooth, and smooth, and smooth…”

If this guy says “smooth” one more time …

Steve whisked the tablecloth high over his head. “Now meet me in the middle,” he said, ushering me towards him. We each took several steps forward until our two ends of the ginormous tablecloth came together. “Okay, now turn and fold, and fold and turn….”

It was kind of like square dancing, but angrier, and with more polyester.

After 35 minutes, we finished our first tablecloth.

So, here’s a math problem for you:

If January and Steve have to steam and fold 20 more tablecloths, at a rate of 35 minutes each, who murders who first?

Fortunately, we picked up the pace after that, and finished five tablecloths in two hours.

But apparently, that wasn’t good enough because Lord of the Linens checked his watch and said, “Maybe we could move a little faster.”

I raised an eyebrow.

And that’s when he uttered the words I’d been hoping to hear all night.

“You know,” he said, “I could probably do this faster without you.”

The sentence was barely out of his mouth before I was on the couch, sipping a glass of wine and enjoying a nice murdery Dateline.

An hour later, I went to bed and drifted off to the sound of whooshing linens. 

The next day, we delivered 21 steamed, fluffed, and folded tablecloths to Parker.

“Oh, my gosh, you guys are amazing,” Parker said. “I hope it wasn’t a problem.”

I smiled. “It was no problem at all.”

Author’s Note: The Picture at the beginning shows the final product of our Steve’s hard work.
Coming Soon: Marital Mayhem: Part 2: The Rise and Fall of Team Cheese