Why I am a terrible wife:
I woke up this morning and my husband announced that he’d had a knee in his back all night. I didn’t apologize. I said — why didn’t you do something about it? He said — I didn’t want to wake you.
Then I announced to my husband that the house needs to be cleaned because a doula is coming by for an informational interview today at 11, and then I fell back to sleep.
When I finally did get up, after he gently suggested I might want to, I toasted a muffin, buttered it, and came in to my office to type. Right now, he is doing dishes and giving the kitchen floor a swipe with the dust-buster. Oh, sure, I grabbed a few glasses and put them in the dishwasher, the whole time so proud of myself for A) HELPING, and B) putting them in so neatly; unlike the haphazard way HE usually does it.
Hello? Mentally chastising the man in my life who actually DOES DISHES?
At least I didn’t say anything out loud.
See. Terrible. Wife.
Okay, lest you agree with me completely, we do generally split the chores this way: I do most of the grocery shopping and cook mind-numbingly fabulous meals, and he does the dishes. Occasionally, I also wash stuff, like for example on Thursday, which helps to improve my street cred.