March 02, 2009
The Chore List
I am officially confirming what you have all known for years -- there's something wrong with me. I'm physically unable to function in what's commonly known as The Real World. (I.e. the universal reality of life, not the t.v. show.)
How do people do this? What does everyone do when they go home?
After working an eight-hour day, do you guys, like, make a balanced, tasty meal, clean your house, tend to your pets and/or children, pay the bills, run a couple errands, exercise, have a meaningful conversation with your spouse/life partner, and get to bed before sunrise? Because, if you do, I worship at your feet and beg that you show me the secret of your time-bending physics.
On a typical day, I run one errand on the way home from work, make a sandwich or mac 'n' cheese, feed and take out the dogs, glare resentfully at the dog hair that needs to be vacuumed up, spend 15 minutes straightening up the house, and then plant my ass in front of the t.v., struggling to stay awake past 7:30 p.m.
I SUCK AT THIS! I'm so laughably inadequate at living the typical American life, I should probably be deported. I need to become a shepherd in the Laplands or something.
Husband has offered, quite sincerely, to help with the chores, but much of the time, I can't abide his version of "helping."
Loading the Diswasher
If Husband loads the dishwasher, he will get exactly seven things in it before running out of room. Despite being an architect, he just can't figure out spactial relations between the dishes and the racks that will result in the optimal amount of dishes getting washed. Therefore, he is not allowed to load the dishwasher.
Laundry
A beautiful, charcoal grey, V-neck, cashmere sweater from Banana Republic. Shrunk. 'Nuff said.
Making the Bed
Husband hogs the covers. By morning, he has enough covers so that they are touching the ground on his side of the bed. I invariably have to rely on supplemental blankets, gotten in the middle of the night, to make sure I have enough coverage to ward off hypothermia. And when he makes the bed, does he realign the covers? No. He leaves fourteen feet hanging off of his side, and two inches on my side. If I didn't remake the bed, and that was the way we began the night, I'd end up naked and shivering on the floor by 1:00 a.m.
So let's recap. I don't want to do all the housework by myself, yet I don't like the way Husband does it. By my calculations, that means that I absolutely 100% deserve every ounce of stress and fatigue I incur.
Alrightythen.
Comments
I don't know who decided people get stuff done after work but they should be shot. Nobody actually gets crap done on a regular basis. Sure, I may leave work an hour early and run several errands, exercise the dogs, work out and make a decent dinner all while having the laundry going and the dishwasher hammering away. But that's like once or twice a year max.
I consider the day successful if I get dressed, make it to work, feed the dogs and watch a little (lots) of tv before hitting the sack.
My shrink said if I delegate chores I am not allowed to criticize or go and fix them myself afterwards. Turns out living alone also remedies that little conundrum.
Posted by: Hope at March 2, 2009 10:44 AM
No. No chores. I put my folded clothes on one edge of my unmade bed each week. We run the dishwasher when the cupboard is out of dishes. Empty the dishwasher when the sink is full of dirties. It is all very efficient.
The cat loves to play with trash, so the floor of our living space is full of cat toys.
It's kind of Feng Shui Homer Simpson style.
Posted by: Herc at March 3, 2009 11:01 PM