For those who are saying this thread is sexist and demeaning to men, let me tell you how it starts. Well how it started for me, forty years ago. In the early days, living together is fun. Lazy mornings in bed, housework undone-we are too much in love to bother with such mundane stuff like doing the dishes. But a few panicked mornings with no clean knickers and no coffee in the cupboard encourages a more pro active approach to housework. From one of the couple anyway. And love is blind so if the woman picks up dirty washing for her beloved every morning, she is displaying her love and care for the man. The man sees this and thinks how wonderful it is that his darling cares so much that she is willing to pick up his dirty socks and pants.
As children arrive and the daily grind kicks in, darling finds she is picking up more than dirty socks. Gradually, she finds that without some major input from her the house would be a filthy, untidy midden and no one would eat. The man meanwhile has lost the ability to comprehend that the toilet doesn’t clean itself and meals need some thought process and effort. He watches his darling skilfully manage this and marvels at her ability to create a calm, safe space for him and the children. Darling must love him so much as she takes such care. Darling, however, is frazzled, rushed and far too busy to think beyond tomorrow and the Thomas the Tank engine cake she promised to bake for ds birthday-how can she fashion the funnel?
Darling, however, has tried many ways over the years to get her beloved to participate in the running of the home. She asks him to clean the bathroom. He does. Later she finds that he has wiped her face flannel around the room and then put it back on the sink. No products were used, the floor is wet and last week’s towels are bunched on the rail. Beloved, she says, why did you use my flannel to clean the bathroom and why does it still look like a tip. Darling, he replies, you didn’t ask me to bring the rubbish out/replace the towels/use products on the hard surfaces/wipe toothpaste from the sink/remove shaving foam from the mirror etc etc etc.
And so it goes on. The man who is responsible for multi million pound deals of great complexity in the work place now needs a step by step guide to doing the laundry.
Darling is stressed. Full time work and children aren’t compatible with keeping your temper, so she shouts. She begs. She pleads. She threatens. She crys. Beloved is bemused. On several occasions she stops doing the wife work. Rubbish and washing build up, the fridge empties, and the house is a danger zone of Lego and small pieces of plastic. Beloved glances over his glasses at the chaos and offers to order a takeaway. Again. Darling caves in, the children need clean uniform and decent food.
Years pass. Darling explained to beloved that living in squalor is not a way to live and that there are certain tasks that need to be done to maintain a reasonable standard of living. She explains that while his dirty pants and socks on the bedroom floor is a trivial matter, this has been going on for decades and she is fed up of clearing them away. Likewise she is fed up with having to tidy the house that is covered in his stuff that litters every room. She points out that as he walks through the door he discards various items from the hall to the living room to the kitchen then up the stairs. Cupboard doors seem to spring open and their contents fall to the floor as he passes. The house that was a haven of peace and tranquillity has become a death trap of odd shoes and briefcases, socks and papers. She says all this through gritted teeth. Darling and beloved have a serious (another) talk. Darling makes a list of daily, weekly, monthly tasks that she performs and tells him she has had enough of doing everything. He must choose the tasks he wishes to do and they will become his responsibility. Beloved is shocked. The bed is changed every week he says, why we do that, it’s not as though it gets dirty.
So, he has his tasks, he promises to do them without darling asking. Darling promises to leave him too it without nagging.. Darling feels happy that it is all finally sorted.
Months pass. Beloved decides that some of the tasks don’t need doing with the frequency that darling has decreed. He lets it slide. Darling asks why there is a pile of recycling on the work surface, by the front door, in the porch and the recycling bins that we put into the new kitchen are crammed with the stuff and won’t shut. Beloved huffs and puffs. He’s reading the paper, he will do it later.
Later comes. Darling is stacking the dishwasher. Beloved tells her that she is staking it incorrectly. Darling has a sharp knife in her hand. She seriously thinks of plunging it into beloved’s torso and watching the smug, self righteous smile wiped off his lazy face. Darling wonders whether a jury of her peers would find her guilty of murder when, in truth, all he did was make a comment about her dishwasher stacking routine. Darling frets about impending retirement and all the cosy time they will share.
So, in those early days, no one anticipates how the future will be, so it’s never addressed. Not until habits and behaviour become ingrained and normalised. Beware you young things out there. Before you pick up that sock or contemplate smashing your beloved on the back of the head with the Hoover, have THE conversation.