Domestic Division

There are certain domestic responsibilities that I do not participate in for a number of distasteful reasons. Established in our first year of marriage, without prenuptial agreements or contract negotiations, the division of labor in our home happened naturally. For instance, anything to do with the disposal of trash to the outside holds little appeal for me so I pretend that it is not a skill I possess. Likewise, emptying the dishwasher is not an interest of pursuit for my husband, so he feigns lack of proficiency.

For me, yard work brings about allergies, sore muscles and unnecessary damage to nail cuticles. For him, putting clean clothes into drawers defies all logic when it is clear leaving them in the laundry basket provides better accessibility.

I don’t understand how the noise of the vacuum cleaner presents such a deterrent for my spouse when the volume of the leaf blower he uses at every opportunity can be heard in outer space. He doesn’t get how the toilet plunger can be considered so difficult to operate by yours truly when I can defrost meat in the microwave while cleaning out the refrigerator and simultaneously engage in a three-way conversation on the cell phone.

Our systematic approach to household chores may not make sense, but somehow, fifteen years later, it continues to joyfully work. He is Manager of the Maintenance Crew, of which I am the only reluctant member. I am Head of Housekeeping, in charge of just one, whose tendency is to hide from me when given the chance.

A few days ago, I bravely, and somewhat spontaneously, decided to cross the domestic lines that have divided us for so long. Recognizing that my husband, John, had experienced a difficult week at work, I decided to lessen his load by taking out the trash to the outside bins.




Those bins were full so I changed directions and headed towards the yard art that has been sitting on our front lawn for the past ten weeks.



Unbeknownst to me, trash bags weren't necessarily designed to drag across pavement, down steps and then across a path made of sharp pebbles.




Apparently, the folks at Hefty never considered the lengths a wife will go to all for the purpose of helping her hubby.



Certainly, no concessions made by the trashbag manufacturers for someone who stepped from behind her vacuum cleaner in order to attempt the seemingly impossible.



And damaged a nail cuticle in the process.