DH asking pointless questions

[NotAUserNumberSoNotATroll]

I'm fully prepared to hear that I'm being ungrateful and grumpy but DH is currently driving me insane, is it just me being mean to his well meaning offers??

If I say no in answer to any question he can't just accept that "Are you sure?" "I really don't mind""Sure you're sure?"

If he decides to do anything he has to reassured of every detail every time "what program does the white wash go on?" "It is blue bin day this week isn't it?" "I'll just Hoover if that's ok?"

Is it just me? Any ideas on how to cope much needed please!

*Whilst making lunch - What shall I put in the salad? How much cheese should I grate? How long do I cook X for? Do I need to defrost it first?

Putting the washing on - What shall I wash? What setting on the washer?

Cleaning - Shall I wipe this? Where does this go?

FUCK OFF AND USE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN YOU HUMAN POTATO!

I essentially do all the thinking in our house.*

We must have the same DP. It's the only logical answer. It hurts me too much to think there's more than one man out there like this!

(Lighthearted obvs)

I think the only solution is to raise any sons I have without the stupid question asking issue, then at least my DIL will be happy

I think a lot of it is to do with how he was brought up traditional SAHM set up, he told me a few weeks back that his father never cooked for him once. Ever.

Where as I grew up with both parents working, dad did most of the cooking in the week as he enjoys it most other tasks were split evenly. My brother is 18 and fab around the house, cooks, cleans doesn't expect domestic tasks to be "wife work" and never wants a medal. I will be interested to see how if at all he changes when he finds a GF and moves out in the future. She will be "lucky" I can say that for sure...

My DH is occasionally like this. The other day he was going to iron his work shirts but couldn't find them all. I had washed them you see, and he could only find four of them on the drying rack. The fifth had been put on the other drying rack, which he'd walked past 10 times that morning. His question was, 'Is my shirt in the airing cupboard?' to which I answered, 'Have you looked?'
Why should I be the Keeper of the Shirts? They are not my fucking shirts. It's not as if the laundry is hidden in a secret place, and it's not as if he is blind, but it's as if it's my responsibility to know exactly where things are at all times when he can't even be bothered to look for them. Makes me a bit cross.

not all of us can remember the washing program or which bin goes when

So why are the ones with vaginas supposed to have superior recall and primary responsibility?