My friend Jami asked her father-in-law to paint her laundry room bright orange. She hates doing laundry, but loves eye-popping orange. She found old looking Crush soda signs to finish off the walls.
I've never called my family's laundry room "my laundry room" as Jami did. I do most of the laundry, and I dislike my husband in there. He normally shrinks something or the like, and I keep a pretty good rhythm. Still, I've never said, "my laundry room."
The naive feminist tells my soul that I should make my husband do laundry, or at least claim the laundry room. The healthy married woman (I struggle to be both) wants peace. I have never heard my husband say, "have you seen my drill" and flinched. He does call it his drill, unlike me, who is scared to demand rights to the laundry room. The drill has been purchased with money of the marriage, and I could use the drill if I wanted. I still wouldn't say "my drill."