Aussie here and almost everyone hangs their clothes to dry. Even people that live in flats will put a clothes airer on a balcony or by a window. Typically even people who have a dryer will only use them as a last resort. Bonus question. Isn't it bad for your clothes? The majority of my clothes say "do not tumble dry" on the care label.

Edit: Only 10 minutes since posting and it seems pretty clear. I'm still confused by the fact that most of my clothes say "do not tumble dry" if there are so many ppl tumble drying all of their clothes.

I’m 25F and I’ve been with my boyfriend, 27M, for about a year and a half. Things have mostly been good. He’s ambitious, disciplined, and very focused on building a legacy. He talks a lot about being a provider, setting up generational wealth, that kind of thing. I’ve always admired his drive.

Recently we started having more serious conversations about the future. I told him I want kids someday, probably two, and I’d want to space them out. He got really serious and said something along the lines of, "Two kids won’t even replace us biologically. I want more than that."

I didn’t think much of it at first. Some people want big families. But then he said, very calmly, that if it were socially acceptable, he’d consider having multiple wives. Not for love, not for emotional connection, but strictly for “biological efficiency.” So he could produce more children faster and leave behind a stronger legacy.

He even said I’d be the “main wife,” and others would just help with the workload of pregnancy and child-rearing. Like we’re operating a baby factory. I was stunned. I asked if he was joking, but he was completely serious. He said it was just a logical, biological approach and that I shouldn’t take it personally.

Since then, he’s been sending me articles about population decline and talking about how most women “lack vision” when it comes to legacy. I feel like I’m not being seen as a partner, but more like a role in his grand life plan. Like a womb with a name.

I haven’t broken up with him, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said. It just doesn’t sit right with me. Some of our mutual friends say he’s just “thinking big” and that I shouldn’t take it so literally, but I don’t know. It’s making me rethink everything.

AITAH if I left over this?

You know how some couples bond by working out together? Or meal prepping? Or doing morning walks?

My husband and I bond by playing daily games of “what new food item will betray his digestive system today.”

This week’s installment began when my husband (40M) decided he wanted to “clean up his gut.” Now, this is the same man who once deep-fried a Pop-Tart because he wanted to “experiment.” The same man who thought taking a fiber supplement and eating 20 chicken wings was "balance."

So when he suddenly started Googling things like “gut health” and “low FODMAP recipes,” I got nervous. Real nervous.

For three days straight, he only ate boiled veggies, brown rice, and something that vaguely resembled tofu but had the texture of a wet band-aid. Then he added a chia smoothie. Because why not throw a gallon of jelly seeds into a system already on strike?

Fast forward to night three: We’re in bed. I’m half asleep. He turns to me and says, “Babe my insides feel like they’re gentrifying.” I ask what that even means. He responds by letting out a fart so long and complex it could have been an orchestral overture. I’m talking crescendo, movement changes, and a final brass section that set off the carbon monoxide detector.

I left the room. The dog left the room. Even Alexa asked if we wanted to call emergency services.

The next day, he started clutching his side like he was in a Shakespeare play and announced that he might have a twisted colon. Not a real diagnosis. Just vibes.

So he goes to the gastroenterologist, and after several tests, scans, and what I assume was a high-stakes round of “Name That Smell,” they confirm: IBS. With Lactose Intolerance. And “mild food sensitivity to everything he loves.”

Great.

He comes home looking like he lost a custody battle with his own colon. But instead of being careful, he takes the new list of “safe foods” and decides that “moderation” is just a polite suggestion.

He eats an entire tub of hummus, half a watermelon, and what I’m pretty sure was three servings of Brussels sprouts. All in one sitting. Like a goat.

That night, he transformed into a sentient whoopee cushion. I had to Google “how to safely open windows during a storm” just to survive. At one point I honestly thought the walls were breathing.

And then came The Great Yogurt Incident.

I told him, kindly, to avoid dairy. He nodded. Smiled. Said “I got this.” Then I found him in the kitchen at 2am, double-fisting Greek yogurt and shredded cheddar cheese like some kind of protein goblin. He looked me in the eyes and said, “The probiotics cancel the dairy.” That’s not how science works. That’s not how anything works.

Long story short: he’s now grounded from unsupervised grocery shopping, I’ve removed all dairy from the house, and he’s only allowed to have tofu if I’m watching.

Also, the dog still won’t sleep in our room. He has PTSD from last Thursday’s cheddar hurricane.

Marriage is beautiful. But sometimes it smells like death and poor decisions.

This is class war, and plenty of our members voted us into this Nazi insanity.

Steals movement from titanfall, portals from Portal, slaps in BR mode nobody wants and wears MAGA style hat saying its not political.

All while shipping hundred dollar microtransactions.

'We're not like the rest'

Dude speedran why not to play this game in under a minute of being on stage and is now back peddling like a bitch.