Here's what I've learned after 13 ½ years of marriage:
As you get
older, you can't escape becoming a cliché.
We bought a
new light fitting for our lounge on Sunday. Opening up boxes of electrical
equipment has always scared me a little. There are wires and other mysterious
objects and who knows where they go and what they're for.
Scott doesn't
seem to share my fear. When we got home, he nonchalantly pulled out all the
bits and stepped confidently onto his ladder. We had a new light fitting
installed within 20 minutes.
"Are men
born with an innate knowledge of these things?" I asked somewhat
deferentially. I felt a strange attraction to him as I watched him connect those
wires and screw in those bits.
Yes, I've
become a cliché.
Back in the
day when I was young and idealistic, I fancied myself independent and
self-sufficient. I didn't need a man to tell me how to live my life, manage my
finances, or tie my shoelaces. I liked being alone and I liked doing things for
myself.
But
gradually, insidiously, married life has changed all that.
In our house,
there are 'man jobs' and 'woman jobs' . Man jobs include:
- Killing cockroaches or anything nasty
- Climbing on ladders for any reason whatsoever
- Heavy lifting of any variety
- Room painting
- Lightbulb changing or anything required knowledge of
electrics.
I could go
on.
Woman jobs
include:
- Changing the sheets
- Vacuuming the carpets
- Cleaning the bathroom
- Ensuring lunch boxes are packed creatively
- Signing of school forms
Ok, so Scott
doesn't do the vacuuming or changing of the sheets because he has allergies.
And although he's been known to clean the bathroom, he very rarely does it
because I seem to have a more developed "ugh" factor than he does.
But there you
go. Man and Woman Jobs.
If you'd told
me this when I was 19, I would've laughed derisively or maybe given you a hard stare, a la Paddington Bear. My old university friends would not be terribly impressed if they saw me now. But
I'm ok with that. As long as the job is done, I'm happy.
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