“I wish he’d put the seat down.”
“I washed the clothes. The least he could do it fold them.”
“Would it kill him to wash a dish every now and again?”
Ask any woman and she will tell you that she would love to have her man help out more around the house.
Well I have a confession to make. As much as I like to make IP the butt of my jokes, he does help out around the house as much as he can. Unfortunately, it’s not always as much as I’d like it to be, but, hey, I’ll take what I can get.
Ever since the beginning of our wedded bliss, IP has been the duster of the family. He was born with a dominant ‘love of dusting’ gene. Which is good, because I carry a ‘I could care less how much dust is on the end table’ gene. My vice is vacuuming.
In equal symmetry, IP prefers to cook dinner, especially Sunday dinner, if his schedule allows. This trait meshes perfectly with me since I loathe cooking. Maybe, if I was good at it or could dream up inventive meals, I might care more, but I don’t. Strangely enough, as much as I hate cooking, I equally enjoy doing the dishes. (I know. I know. There is something wrong with me. Heck, we remodeled our kitchen and I didn’t even put in a dishwasher. I still scrub everything by hand. Add it to my list of issues.)
Well, yesterday I came around the corner and found this sight to behold in my kitchen.
Marinara anyone? Who wants a meatball?