Inside Man
I must admit, getting used to a heavier load of domestic chores is not as difficult as I thought it would be.
My wife and I used to joke with friends all the time, who would ask her why she would never let me cook dinner. “I’m saving that up for when we get pregnant,” would be her more-than-joyful reply. And what do you know, my new nickname is Chef.
And Butler. And Maid.
And it’s not so bad.
When we first got together, we used to clash all of the time about chores and the lack of me doing them. Not that I was callous about it, or dismissive of her wishes for a clean home. I just get easily distracted by other things, such as television, video games, and blogging. But now that I’ve committed to cooking and cleaning on a regular basis so that my wife can get the appropriate rest, I sometimes find that the domestic role is a peaceful one. A time to reflect on a day at work, tasks that remain, and how to maximize family time.
I’m running things inside of the home. Making sure errors are getting run, trips to the mailbox are taken, and meals are prepared to taste. Of course I’m not as proficient as my lady, but I’m pretty confident in the work I’m doing thus far. No food poisoning, no embarrassment in front of family and guests, and a happy and laughing wife indicates as much.
Maybe I could get used to this. Maybe I could be a househusband and blog for income, while she goes out and chases down the finances for the home. Perhaps I, like many men, am willing to take care of house and home. Gender roles and antiquated societal expectations be damned.
….
Gotta finish this thought later. Time to go make some Sloppy Joes.
