Considering divorce over towel and contact lense chaos

Mrs Canavan and I don't argue often - no more the six times a day absolute tops - but I'm afraid to report we had a rather bad disagreement the other Tuesday.

- Steve Canavan

It was quite heated and erupted over a very serious issue - a towel.

That's right, they say little things get on your nerves in a long-term relationship and by god is that the truth.

I'd had a busy day, putting a load of washing on, cleaning the kitchen cupboards, making tea (sausage and chips since you didn't ask), washing the car, and - and this is by far the worst one - dealing with the kids, while Mrs Canavan's sole contribution to household chores was to unload the tumble dryer and take the clean laundry up to the bedroom.

She did it quite well to be fair - she even folded one of my jumpers, about the second time in 15 years that's happened (though I had to refold it because she'd done it slightly wonkily and had it not been rectified, would have led to a slight crease in the lower right arm).

But what she'd also done - as she's done every single time she's taken the washing upstairs for the last decade and counting - was to throw a towel onto my side of the bed.

Now, our towels live in a little drawer underneath my side of the bed (which, in the interest of answering the question on the lips of everyone reading, is on the left). However, Mrs Canavan appears to think it involves way too much effort to walk the six or so steps around the bed, to the other side, and to put the towel in the drawer.

I mean, she's right - it requires such astonishing superhuman levels of exertion she may well keel over with a cardiac arrest.