I have a problem with my husband and many of you are not going to want to know about my problem, once you know what it is and some of you may even feel like sending me hate mail. That’s okay, I can handle it.
The smaller percent of you who will understand – please do leave me a comment so I can feel better, as I write this post to hopefully make you feel better, too.
Here is my problem – he does everything. Nice problem to have, I hear you say. Wish my husband did, I hear you grumble. Gee, she’s got a cheek, I hear you cry as you raise your fist in the air at my ungratefulness.
Hear me out.
As a woman, part of what I see as my role is the housekeeping. Antiquated role definitions possibly but I don’t care. I actually like to keep a nice house, make homemade biscuits and cakes, and cook a delicious meal for family and friends. I enjoy tissying up the house and am supremely satisfied at the end of a good cleaning and tidying session.
Does that mean that I don’t like a little help? No, of course not.
Now, I also enjoy a good tinkering around in the shed; one of my favourite places in the world is the hardware store even though I do not know what even an eighth of the things they sell do. And I relish a good ‘fix it’ job if a tap or a door knob falls off.
My husband can cook exceedingly well, satisfactorily clean, knows his way around the washing machine and clothesline, mostly tidies up after himself and could quite easily fend for himself and the kids in my absence and has proven this on numerous occasions.
He also, while not the handiest in town, knows which end of the hammer is the business end and is fully up to speed with the difference between a Phillips head and a flat head, and knows what at least half the things in hardware stores are for, as opposed to my eighth.
He brings me flowers, buys me wine, gives me random presents for no reason. He tells me I’m beautiful (yeah, yeah I know, he’s seeing the optometrist next week) and literally just a couple of seconds ago, he brought me caesar salad and a glass of wine.
So what exactly is the problem?
The problem, lovelies, is that I have no specialty. I can’t claim dominance in the kitchen, or the housekeeping, or even the child raising.
HE. DOES. EVERYTHING.
If I was a car mechanic, I would have no issue. I would have my niche area and be quite content if he didn’t know how to pop the bonnet (hood for you American folk) and I knew all there was to know. But, alas, while not being a mechanic, he certainly knows enough about cars to keep both his and mine running smoothly, while I on the other hand know how to drive it and put fuel in on the odd occasion.
I could handle it if was a fair role reversal situation. You know, like if I did all the other stuff, like earned the higher wage, fixed the car, paid the bills, could program the DVD recorder, fix computers etc etc. Then I would be fine but of course, you guessed it, he does all that too.
So basically, he can do all the stuff that traditionally should be my arena, plus all his stuff too. Which leaves me with…..*crickets*…..mmmmm, see?
Is anyone out there hearing me over the cries of all those other wives who are swearing at their computer screens and right now coming up with creative ways for me to die a slow and painful death?
Seriously, I might need to go and become a mechanic just to make myself feel better.
Disclaimer: My husband is NOT perfect – thank God. He has many faults of varying degrees which drive me mental, sometimes on a daily basis.