Just kidding! About being a failure. I’m an awesome wife and a glaring feminist (who doesn’t always agree with or adhere to strict gender roles), but I’m totally not joking about the iron. In fact, the last time two times we were on vacation and I had a dress that Downy Wrinkle Releaser couldn’t fix, The Scottish ironed them for me. It’s just not something I do. And that’s why we’re always on good terms with the closest dry cleaners.
I’d guess that I have dinner hot and ready to go about two nights out of five when The Scottish gets home from work around 6 PM. This is especially embarrassing because I’m currently unemployed and finally have the time for cooking new meals and experimenting with fun recipes. But I can’t think of a household chore I hate more. For me cooking is about as relaxing as getting through airport security or a trip to the dentist.
I don’t mind preparing food for dinner as long as it’s quick and easy. I also enjoy baking and all things dessert. I just can’t be bothered to spend time fixing a big meal that requires more than two kitchen utensils. I can’t even count how many times I’ve opened a recipe book or browsed a food blog for new ideas only to end up riddled with sweat and anxiety and scrapping the whole thing. Why are there are so many ingredients!?!?!
I feel the same way about word math problems. I don’t understand them even after reading them multiple times. Thus, I end up missing some major ingredient or starting something only to be forced to stop mid-recipe because the dough has to sit in the fridge for five hours or the chicken has to marinate BEFORE baking. Whaaa?
Then there’s sewing or mending. I once sewed up a hole in one of my shirts near a seam on the back. I did such an atrocious job I had to throw it away. My husband sews up the holes in his own work pants, and I am already planning on being that parent who spends way too much on a Halloween costume for their child that could have just as easily been made from scratch or repurposed from other garments. I will proudly parade them around in those cheap and flimsy fabrics, and I might even say, “Oh if only I wasn’t so busy this fall I would have made this myself, haha!” (Never.)
Lest you think The Scottish should start phoning divorce lawyers, let me remind you he hasn’t touched a toilet brush since we’ve met. I don’t mind cleaning and I might even go so far as to say I enjoy cleaning bathrooms most of all. Yes, I’m a freak. There’s something about being able to cover every inch of it thoroughly with bleach-y fumes that makes me happy. Or high. Regardless, I’ve got that going for me.
But that’s not all! I find doing the dishes very rewarding as well. I hardly let my meal digest before I’m back in the kitchen cleaning up and if The Scottish says he’ll get to them but doesn’t within his allotted 30 seconds I end up going in for the kill myself.
When I’m not cleaning I can be found shopping for groceries, dog food, clothing, and shoes. My husband is a terrible shopper and gets overwhelmed after about 20 minutes at the mall. When it comes to finding him new clothing, I’ve figured out it’s best to leave him at home cradling his Xbox.
When I first met The Scottish he shopped at Nordstrom and Armani Exchange. Granted, he was also single which in layman’s terms meant he was incredibly rich. (You can only spend so much of your paycheck on beer.) I have since
emptied his wallet opened his eyes to places like JCPenney’s, Target, T.J. Maxx, Old Navy, and Macy’s. I’ve also discovered he’s more likely to try on new styles at home, so I purchase items I’d like him to consider and if he really dislikes something, I return it.
Add laundry, dog-rearing, and lunch making to my list of wifely successes, and I’m looking pretty good again. But The Scottish isn’t the only lucky person in this relationship. I’m blessed to have a fantastic husband who always takes out the trash and never gets annoyed when I tell him he has to scrounge for dinner because I haven’t made anything yet… and won’t be making anything in the near future (being an artist is exhausting some days).
How many men would pick bobby pins out of their wive’s tangled locks for a good 45 minutes?
Best husband ever. I rest my case.
How do you and your partner split the household roles? Do you find there are some things you just WON’T do?