My husband and I were talking about our least favorite household chores the other day.
We’ve always shared house-cleaning duties, just like everything else in life these past 31 years of marriage.
We were taking a walk the other day, and the subject of cleaning came up somehow.
“I don’t like to dust,” he said. I knew that, so it falls to me. But I don’t like it, either, so it’s not something I do every week, I admit. When I do, I’m good at it. I dust the baseboards and the never-ending stupid wooden blinds.
“I don’t like to mop the floors,” I said. Pause. “But I don’t think I ever have; that’s your job.”
He’s always been an excellent mopist.
“And I don’t like to cook,” I said. And, that’s why I never do it. In 31 years, I have cooked a handful of meals, not counting breakfast on the weekends. I scramble farm-fresh eggs we get at the farmers market, throw some fruit on the plate (usually pineapple that he has cut up) and a muffin, also purchased at the farmers market.
I sometimes make the tea. But we’ve quit drinking tea. I will put ice in the glasses.
At Thanksgiving, I make pumpkin pies from the recipe on the back of the Libby’s pumpkin can. A long, long time ago, I made a few other pies and cookies, occasionally. Not in decades, though.
“Have you actually cooked a meal since we’ve lived in this house these past, oh, 17 years?” he asked.
Nope. Can’t remember that ever happening. I did bake him a birthday cake once. It almost shocked him to death.
He likes to cook, mind you. He even took a knife-skills class through the university, just for fun. He’s signed up for a class on spices later this month. That sounds like punishment to me.
Talking about cooking reminded me of a household chore I do — cleaning the stove. In fact, I won’t let him because I clean it better, and I enjoy getting the black flattop all shiny.
He usually washes the dishes, too, or puts them in the dishwasher. I don’t mind washing dishes, if I have my handy-dandy rubber gloves.
The bathrooms are my areas. I am fairly fanatical about clean bathrooms (again, with the rubber gloves). But the shower, that’s become his domain. I will weed out the 9 million bottles of shampoo and conditioner when he asks.
I don’t mow the yard, either. I tried once early in our marriage, but I couldn’t start the mower.
“I decorate!” I said, grasping for something else.
“That’s not a household chore,” he said.
“I also shop for things for the house,” I told him.
Again, not a chore, he said.
I think what this shows is, I am spoiled.
I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, which is coming up at the end of this month.
“For you to clean out the garage,” he said.
The man drives a hard bargain. I’ll have a garage sale, and I’m keeping the money.
Paying the bills? His job.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.