My husband’s taken a lot of flack as a result of this blogging thing, first with the English-to-Man Dictionary, and then Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man. Truth is, there are several domestic activities at which he consistently performs better than I do. How do I know this? I have a tendency to be a competitive little twit sometimes. Especially at home. The scoundrel outperforms me in an impressive array of activities, and I can’t lie, it makes me a little bit peeved.
I have fantasies about washing, folding, and putting away laundry with the speed and precision of a world-record holder. If I could, I’d clean the house under the pressure of a stopwatch. I like to be the person to turn around and yell, “Done!” before anyone else has gotten up to start. In fourth grade, I used to pride myself in finishing tests and stampeding up to the teacher’s desk to have mine handed in first. We’ve all got our vices.
Now, let me preface the next few items (and alleviate any confusion) by disclosing that my husband’s manly. Very manly. You know that Evolution of Man chart? He’s pretty much the third guy from the left. If he were able, he’d forage for his own food, mostly, if not completely, naked, and communicate solely by grunting.
That said, he picks out the most fabulous purses. Since I began allowing that man to choose my handbags, I’ve received nothing but compliments from family, friends, and total strangers. He’s got a good eye, that one, especially when it comes to the Coach.
Furthering illuminating his eye for beauty (you know, besides me), he is also pretty excellent at choosing clothing. So much so, that I bring him with me when I shop. Always. I’m aware he probably has no desire whatsoever to sit under hot track lights, outside a women’s fitting room, being cautiously and periodically inspected by retail staff, but I can’t bring myself to shop without him anymore. And I’m so thankful that he’s a good sport. And for Angry Birds.
Now, home is a completely different story. There are things he does really well, but others, well, not so much. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the I-should-make-a-complete-mess-of-this-so-no-one-ever-asks-me-to-do-it-again scenario, but I may never know…
As far as food preparation goes, however, he’s without parallel. According to the sign in our kitchen, it’s been 93 days since our last accident. The last one? It was me, of course, having to run, bleeding, from the kitchen after a tough, yet slimy avocado got the better of me. The reason it’s been so long since the last accident? I haven’t been in the kitchen. I’m sure we’ll be resetting that count just as soon as I return to full duty.
And I can’t carry a coffee, from anywhere to anywhere, without someone getting hurt. I’ve spilled coffee on myself, him, the floor, the wall, one of the cats, and Michael. I can’t be trusted with coffee. Period. He carries all the coffee.
I do have to mention, however, that his, ahem, methods, of opening containers do leave a bit to be desired. I caught him slicing an ‘X’ into the twist top of a bottle of vitamins with a large knife because he didn’t realize it was a twist top, after spending the greater part of ten minutes trying to jimmy the bottle open. He’s thrown containers on the ground, you know, like coconuts, in order to break them open. Sort of like a lab chimp. But this is not something at which he excels. So, moving on…
The dishwasher has been a bone of contention since we started living together. He says I don’t know how to arrange items to maximize space. He throws out a lot of Tetris jokes. And every time I fill the dishwasher in what I believe to be an acceptable pattern, he swoops in and quickly rearranges it, then adds another twelve pieces to the tray. And then I stomp my feet and storm away. He’s right, though. I am terrible at Tetris.
You know what else he does so well that it just burns my britches? Well, do you? Unknotting jewelry. I used to be the eerily adept at this. People came from far and wide to have my deft hand effortlessly, almost magically, restore their jewelry to wearable condition. He tells me, “Steph, maybe you shouldn’t keep your jewelry in a mug by the toaster in the kitchen so it won’t get knotted…” Blah blah blah. Then how would you show off, Showoff? And besides that, how do you get those neolithic digits to perform such feats of dexterity?
At any rate, somehow, some way, between the two of us, things get done around here. And normally with just band-aids and not sutures. Plus, our boy’s begun pitching in as well, which is quite adorable. Don’t be surprised, though, if you hear about the first annual Household Olympics this summer. I’ve got a few ideas cooking up. And a few tricks up my sleeve. Especially with the dishwasher. Did somebody say paper plates?