Venting

Sometimes I vent about Someone’s inability (or perhaps unwillingness) to help with household chores.  He likes to believe that he does his fair share; in fact, if you asked him, I’m certain he would say “Oh yeah, I easily do 50% of the housework, plus I always cut the grass.”

So lately, I’ve been very busy with classes.  Actually, even too busy to cook lately, which is really not a big deal.  Someone keeps a very different schedule from me.  He usually eats supper after 9 PM and that’s way too late for me.  During the week, Someone typically eats a huge lunch with his coworkers, and then he does things like karate, tennis, or running endless miles on his treadmill that fill his after-work hours. If we eat supper together, it’s on the weekend when I’ve had time to cook, or those rare occasions when we go to a restaurant together.  Almost always, he heats up frozen stuff in the microwave for his supper, or he gets fast food.  He is proficient with a microwave, at least.

Anyway, to keep the story short, it was last Saturday.  I was incredibly busy with classes all day…literally, all day and into the evening. My desk is just off the kitchen, so I know everything that goes on in the kitchen, unfortunately (I’d love to have a door to shut off my space from the rest of the house). Anyway, it was about 4:30 and Someone came into the kitchen and announced that he would make some tuna-fish salad because sandwiches for dinner sounded great.  I said nothing and acted as if I were busy (well, because I was) and observed that he pulled three cans of tuna out of the cabinet, located the pickle relish and mayonnaise in the fridge – slamming around and making all kinds of racket…the whole time talking, talking, TALKING about how tuna salad for dinner was just what he wanted.  I sat there working, and I could tell he was standing in the kitchen waiting for me to offer to take over.

When there was no offer on my part, someone said, “Well, I guess I’ll just boil some eggs first and then I’ll go run while they cool.”  I said nothing.  Someone slammed cabinets a bit longer.  Then, he asked me, “Hey, do we have any pots or pans?” I assured him we’ve had pots and pans for our entire lives together, and told him where to find them.  He said he looked there and we had none.  I suggested he bend his knees and look back a bit into the cabinet (lids in front, pans in back).  Long story short, and after MUCH foul language (mostly while picking egg shells off the boiled eggs) and many excessive bowls and dishes dirtied, he successfully made tuna salad and had his sandwiches. 

The thing that irked me more than anything else was his question – Do we have any pots or pans.  If I had a nickel for every time he’s asked me a stupid question like that, I’d be totally rich. Other questions he has asked me over the years include:

• Do we have a broom?
• Do we have a sweeper?
• Do we have a rag?
• Do we have any hangers?
• Do we have a ladder?
• Do we have any light bulbs?
• Do we have a needle and thread?  (And why?  He had absolutely no intentions of sewing anything.)

I could blame his mother for not teaching him to do common things – she didn’t – but there comes a time when a man has to adult up.  Maybe it’s not that.  Maybe he just doesn’t have that common-sense know-how kind of thinking gene…if it is genetic.  He’s not stupid; he’s a great attorney.  Give him a contract, and he will figure out the nitty gritty details and how to get around them. Give him a hammer and nail, and he will give you a bewildered look – deer in the headlights.  

I kind of feel sorry for him sometimes, but surely it is curable…somehow.  Maybe I don't have the patience gene.