Household Chores and a Crafty Husband

Husbands and future husbands - read no further. This post is not for you.

Why are you still reading this? Scram.

Ok, ladies. I'm going to let you in on a little secret. My husband has perfected the art of getting me to do all the household chores. Not only that, he has gotten me to tell him not to do them. I'm willing to bet there are other wives out there in the same boat.

Jason (the husband of which I speak) is a reasonably intelligent man. All limbs function. Eyesight is intact. Hearing, although selective, is still working. Yet, somehow, someway, he will have me to believe that he is incapable of performing a household duty correctly.

Lies!!

I know he can do them. Yet somehow his freshly washed dishes will have a shiny layer of grease on them. The laundry will stay in the dryer for days. Sometimes it doesn't even make it that far. It nestles comfortably in the washer until I am alerted to its presence by the faint, lingering scent of mildew. The vacuum will stay upright in the exact spot that the last swath was made, the cord trailing a snake-like death trap waiting for a victim.

And he expects demands praise.

It's all a ploy and I am soooooooo onto him.

He knows that I cannot stand all of the aforementioned travesties. He knows that if he portrays himself as the inept, yet lovable, husband then I will tell him to get the crap out of the way and I'll do them myself. What he doesn't know is that I know.

But I can't prove it.

This all sank in the other evening as I found myself saying "Honey, I know you mean well, but please don't do the dishes anymore."

Wait. What?

It's ok. I'll continue this charade for a bit longer. But there will be casualties. And I will show no mercy. Clothes may turn pink and shrink two sizes. He may notice mystery specks on his otherwise clean dinner plate.

You see, ladies, marriage is all about training. It stands to reason that if a dog can learn to pee outside, then a man can learn to wash a dish.