The hubby doesn’t help with the laundry, but he is willing to wear cat socks.
When all the dirty clothes have piled up and I am too tired to care, I see the man-I-married.
He finds the final pair of clean socks in the drawer (a gag gift from a great group of friends), puts them on with zero complaints and has me laughing all the way out the door.
Whether he does laundry or not is like whether it is Friday or Monday. They are both just days, with all the good and bad mixed in between.