This morning, I fed cucumbers to my dogs. They—the cukes—were getting soft and I wasn’t going to use them but I hate to throw away veggies. So, my canine garbage disposals volunteered to take one (two?) for the team. Well, the girls are messy. I have a somewhat high level of indifference, and per Kate-brain, forgot there would be mutilated cucumber all over the floor.
My husband, let me assure you, is not messy, and for the life of him, he can’t spell indifference. It’s not allowed in an OCD brain.
He came downstairs, saw the cucumber remnants everywhere and proceeded to lecture me on the 49 disgusting insect species that would break into our home and do a little seed looting. He then closed his speech with, “If you use my vacuum cleaner to suck these up, I’m going to be upset.” Really he said “pissed,” but I’m trying not to be crass today.
My point is… he said his vacuum cleaner. That’s right. I’m not allowed to clean. I don’t do it right. I did use his vacuum cleaner once and it took me 20 minutes to find the power switch. The sad thing is, this was not the first time in my life that I couldn’t turn on a vacuum cleaner; you will never see domestic diva next to my name. It’s a foreign concept to me.
So, after his rant, I started laughing and told him that lately, every time he opens his mouth, I need a notebook.
True story… this was the conversation in my house two nights ago, before we went out for drinks:
Husband: Are you going to get ready? Maybe get dressed, fix your hair and makeup…
Me: I’m going to get dressed, yes. I’m putting my hair in a ponytail. No makeup. Are you going to be wearing makeup?
Husband: I would if you asked me.
Me: No, you wouldn’t.
Husband: It’s not socially acceptable.
Me: Guyliner can be.
Husband: Have you seen my eyes? I don’t need guyliner (*note – my husband’s eyes are the most ridiculous shade of blue you have ever seen). . Anyway, I’m more of a woman in this relationship than you. I dust and do all of the cleaning. I do the dishes. I make the bed. I do most of the laundry. I take out the trash. I do everything. And you work from home!
While his list is, in every way, sexist, I don’t have an argument because he is the one who does all of it. All of it. Oh wait, I make dinner. Every night (that we eat at home). And do the grocery shopping…daily. He eats the equivalent of what two professional football players eat, so that has to count. I walk the dogs, pay the bills… if you ask me, it’s even-steven.
You know, we have conversations like this all the time. He likes to pretend he does everything and I don’t appreciate him. I do appreciate him. Halle-freakin-lujah, I don’t have to clean. Ever. I would yell my appreciation at the top of every mountain if he asked. For now, I’ll just post it on CheekySkirt…he gave me permission. 😉
My job is done here. Ladies, my number is listed.