Daft Old Duffer returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
I see you ladies are having a go at us men again about you continuing to have to do most of the housework, despite holding down full time jobs of your own.
Now let me be blunt about this and tell you straight, no messing about. It’s entirely, completely and utterly your own fault. And deep inside you know it is.
What’s yours is mine
When a couple set up home together, although the man doesn’t realise it, poor sap, a fundamental split in attitude takes place.
To the man it’s ‘our home, our furniture, our bed and bath and kitchen’.
It’s all mine
In my opinion, to the woman it’s no such thing. As far as she’s concerned it’s a case of ‘my home, my furniture, my bed and bath and kitchen.’
For, in her mind, no matter who contributes what in the way of money and materials, labour and skill, she is the one providing the warm and safe haven for her anticipated young.
And the male quite unwittingly goes along with this. Believing himself to be the one in charge of the situation he will condescendingly allow that the kitchen is her domain.
Follow my lead
Then he will dumbly follow her lead as she selects the furniture, chooses the wallpaper, decides on the paint, for the rest of the home.
He believes he is being indulgent. In truth he has no choice as she arranges every item of furniture, where the bed will be positioned, who has what space in the wardrobe.
A quiet life
Should he put his foot down over some point he feels strongly about, it won’t be too long before he changes his mind, just for the sake of peace and quiet.
And because, as a male, he really doesn’t care all that much one way or the other.
Whereas for her the whole matter is an extension of the bottom drawer she has been brooding over since the age of nine.
That is why any hobby he decides to pursue must a) wait ’til the spare room is re-decorated, and b) take place in the shed outside.
You swine!
That is why, when divorce or separation happens, she will fight tooth and nail and blood on the wall for every last item in the share out.
Indeed, to her there is no share out. There is simply property that her ex-partner is attempting to steal from the children, the cold blooded heartless swine.
This instinctive possessiveness naturally spills over into every aspect of domestic life. As I know from my own experience.
Real-life case study
The woman with whom I shared twelve years of my life – let’s call her Kirstie – had two toddlers to her credit when we first met. This was at a time of high unemployment and neither of us could obtain more than part time or casual short term employment.
Which meant that I, in particular came and went at varying times.
So to save her having to prepare a meal especially for me, at whatever hour I arrived home, I suggested she merely keep a couple of frozen ready meals in store that I could microwave for myself.
She agreed this was a good idea and would certainly help her as she juggled school time and meals and her own job.
Yet it never happened
In common with all households living close to the breadline, it was Kirstie who managed the household finances. And, despite several reminders, she somehow never got round to stocking up with those microwaveable meals.
It became quite obvious she inwardly resented the implication that I could manage without her help. In her kitchen, in her home.
A helping hand
So I switched to the washing up. I noticed that Kirstie washed up all the day’s dishes in one go, at six o’clock in the evening. So one evening I took over, going out to the kitchen just before six.
And the very next evening, just as I was thinking it was time to repeat the process, I became aware that Kirstie had beaten me to it. By slipping into the kitchen at quarter-to.
Thus began a race to the kitchen which lasted for twelve days. Without a word being said, every foray of mine was forestalled on the following evening by Kirstie, who ended by performing the chore just after four in the afternoon.
I give in
At which point I surrendered. As a little later I did over the hoovering the mopping, the laundry.
Kirstie was of course somewhat of an extreme case. But she was an extreme case of an attitude I believe resides in the soul of every woman.
Easier to do it myself
In how many partnerships has the agreed system been to share the cooking, only for that system to gently fade to the point where the woman is in full charge? How many men have found they simply didn’t understand that the washing up and the stacking of the dishes had to follow a certain pattern? A pattern they somehow never managed to master?
How many men have retired, with a mixture of bewilderment and relief, to behind the newspaper, knowing that if they went out to the kitchen to help they would somehow find they were merely getting underfoot?
How many men have discovered they just didn’t know how to make the bed properly?
And how many of us know full-well that the chief delight of our loved one is moaning to her mates that we were so useless, if they wanted something done properly, they just had to do it themselves?
