She hand washes towels and folds them tenderly, uses the most delicate detergents. Dries them in the breeze or in her lap, whichever’s warmest.
She cleans the dishes, scrubs the stove, vacuums the carpet, she folds the towels.
Her mother always said a wife is only as good as her ability to keep a home. Her ability to organize and fold. Her ability to nurture and nature and take care.
Her mother always told her that good wives don’t believe in divorce. That what God joined together, let no man.
And she’d always black out after that…she blacks out a lot nowadays. Since her vows. Let no man–
Til death, her mother said, and she died often–
When his mistress left him when his boss docked his pay when the white towels boasted brown stains.
So she makes sure to wash clothes, to fold the towels after scrubbing away the stains, after soaking her body in Epsom salts.
Her mother always told her a decent wife is only as good as her housework and a husband, decent or not, is only as good as his whims.