And I’m not so sure I’d suggest that the man of the house should be an old-fashioned “king of the castle” (depending on how one defines that), or that he shouldn’t participate in household maintenance.
And . . . for crying out loud, Andrew: having children might be a fundamental part of a woman’s nature, but it’s also very painful, and—from what I’ve seen—very hard work. To sluff off the biggest contribution females make to society as just, well, something they “like to do,” uh, “like housework”—and to compare it to a man’s sleeping around, which is largely a pursuit of pleasure—is obscene.
Personally, I perform as little housework as possible: I’m too burned out from a couple of decades of doing more than my share. And, unfortunately for my husband, I have a much higher squalor-threshold than he does, so we’re going to have to work together to de-squalify, when the time comes later this summer. If he’ll keep me company while I work, I won’t mind. It’s just cooking or cleaning while he writes that turns into a big old drag in a hurry.
(And . . . weddings! Just like housework and childcare: The culture convinces women that that is what they want, and then, like fools, they work their asses off so the men can lounge around and bask in reflected glory. Two years of my life, on that project. Ugh.)
You know what men want, more than anything?—to take on second jobs so they can send me all their extra money, via my PayPal button. All of ’em: the true man wants to please me, starting with Andrew Klaven. Uh-huh.
* * *
But without taking it as far as Klaven does, I just don’t get the male culture these days, and that’s part of what set me off about the early stages of the Sanford scandal, while the media was in the process of happily pounding nails into the coffin of the good governor’s marriage: the suggestion that men are supposed to ask their wives’ permission before they can do what they like. Does my husband ask me before he trains for a marathon or goes to visit his family? No. Of course not. I mean, he might double-check to make sure there’s not something on our mutual calendar that he’s forgetting, just as I do with him. But . . . permission? Say what? Is he eight years old?
Back when we lived in the hills I actually got asked things like, why did I let my husband smoke in the house? “Let”? Um, how about, he contributed half of the downpayment on the place, and was paying 100% of the mortgage at the time, and I knew when I married him that I was getting a smoker? He exiled himself to the balconies when he was trying to quit, and I supported that, too. Whatever makes him happy. Now he’s a non-smoker. Good, but that wasn’t my project.
I mean, isn’t there some kind of middle ground, here?
Men should contribute around the house, and participate in the raising of kids. They should treat women as cherished equals. Women should let men be men, allow them their full dignity as human beings, and not dictate to them how they must spend their time. Why are these such goddamned difficult concepts?
h/t: AllahP
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No idea why it blows so many folks’ minds.
I mean, I harass my husband about telling me where he’s going and when he’ll be back, broadly, but that’s because I grew up on a ranch and worry too much– if he’s not back when expected, I want to know where to start looking.
He gets the final say in stuff, but that’s because *someone* has to have it, and I end up making most of the decisions anyway.