If one person in a relationship thinks that there is an equitable distribution of housework, it means that the other person is getting royally fucked.
Allow some estrogen-fueled harping for just a moment:
I have been doing general house cleaning and picking up nearly every hour that I am home. Even yesterday, when I came home, mouth sour from being drilled, abdomen feeling as though it were being attacked by several barbed egg beaters, even then I managed to do two loads of laundry, empty garbages (which involved bending at the waist… only you girls understand how bad THAT was), picking up socks which have been rolled into balls sitting on the living room rug before Esteban’s nest on the couch, made dinner for him, made dinner for me (involved toast, cherry jam and milk, not that big of a deal), and various other piddly crap.
Esteban told me he’d do the dishes.
Then he watched Law & Order.
He reiterated again that he’d do the dishes.
Then he sat on his computer and played his game until Angel came on. Then he watched Angel with me.
After that, it was 9:00 pm. I asked him again if he was going to do the dishes. He assured me that he was. Then he returned to the computer room to play his computer game.
I don’t know why he insists upon this charade. He knew he wasn’t going to do the damn dishes. I knew he wasn’t going to do the dishes. Why not just say “No, I’m a lazy bastard and I don’t feel like it today.” I mean, I know then that I’d say something like “Oh, like every other day.” Because seriously, when does anyone ever really FEEL like doing the dishes? If you do, please stop over, because I have a counter full of them.
It wouldn’t be such a damn production if he didn’t let them build up, like some fermenting stockpile of procrastination. Most people just DO them. It’s not this big emotional harangue. It’s just the dishes. You don’t get all worked up about doing such things as brushing your teeth or hanging your towel back up in the morning. You just do it, right? I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to get it done rather than looking at it all the time?
But perhaps this speaks to the way that men and women are wired differently. I cannot sit and relax in a messy living room. I do it, sometimes, but I don’t get much out of it. I find it hard when I’ve got physical evidence of something I have to do staring me in the face. But perhaps I am biologically or socialized to see the whole picture. Perhaps men have tunnel vision and don’t actually SEE their dirty socks, rolled into balls, scattered like hickory nuts awaiting fastidious anal-retentive squirrels. Or maybe this was all a big Darwinistic trick to keep women making 70 cents to a man’s dollar… because we’re too fixated on straightening up things to ever get any work done.
So, anyway, I made him chocolate chip cookies.
I bring this all upon myself you know. I am a complete and utter tool.
There’s another update if you hit the back button. It has pictures. And 90 percent less hormonal ranting.
