...to pretend the bathroom door is soundproof in an effort to “be more dad”?

[Gyaradose]

DH has been pretending this for several years now so I’m thinking of adopting this strategy.

Will also work on developing clutter blindness and an inability to open the fridge and transfer what has been seen into a viable meal for children.

Any others?

Option 3 (other than put up and leave it or do it yourself): Leave them as soon as it is clear that they are happy pretending to be inept and search round the gene pool (or own pool whichever suits) for the rare one that isn't an utter bellend. Have a very low tolerance level for anything below the standard that you yourself bring to the table. Reduces one's dating potentially phenomenally, but I'd say worth it. For those already with a bellend in residence, you have my wholehearted sympathies and the loan of a shovel with a very heavy head and a sharp digging edge whenever you need. Can deliver.

I will indulge my fanatical obsession with bleach and use it (neat) to 'clean' the kitchen including our once shiny worktops & will Chuck half a bottle in the dishwasher for good measure as it is truly the elixir of life & makes everything better. I will also bleach the floor, carefully drying as I go with a brand new bath towel & won't notice the white patches as they appear... Then, when DH comes home from work I will puff out my chest and say "well, do you notice anything?" And will b very hurt when he says his eyes are bleeding from fucking bleach fumes & vow never to do any cleaning 'for you' again...

What a horrible, sexist, disgraceful thread. I don't care if it's supposed to be a joke

Touched a nerve did it?

After my other half has tidied and cleared up our bedroom I will take my clothes off at night and leave them in a pile on the ottoman, the following night I will do the same with a new set of clothes and the next night the same with another new set of clothes ad infinitum until the teetering pile resembles the leaning tower of Pisa.

When my wife complains, I will argue that I might want to wear some of these clothes again soon (even though the ones from ten days ago are lying crushed under all the others) and they are much easier to access heaped in a pile that blocks out the light from the window than hanging in the newly fitted wardrobe that has bright motion activated lights.

My OH is also a woman....

I will use the last of everything (last washing pod, last bag of crisps from a multipack, last loo roll) and fail to mention it. When my DW tells me she is going shopping and do I need anything, I will again fail to mention it. A day or two later I will casually throw into a conversation "We have run out of X, can you get some?"

I will proudly announce that I have done the washing up and wait for praise. I will act surprised when DW can't find any clean pans or oven trays or cutlery and says "I thought you had washed up?" "I did most of it" I will say proudly (even though it was only plates. Everything else is too difficult for me.)

Even though "changing the bed" is one of "my" chores, I will fail to notice that it ever needs doing. Ever. Similarly although cleaning is a shared chore and I frequently vacuum, I will fail to notice that the bathroom ever needs cleaning.

....I will also never need to empty the kitchen bins as, lo! I am the master of Bin Jenga! I will love my dog & tell everyone how loyal she is to me, but will never lift any dog poo as clearly that is your job dear spouse as, when referring to poo, she is clearly 'your dog'....

onemore - OMG yes. I have a very beautiful, tiny Victorian chair in our room. DP thinks it its sole purpose is to pile with all the clothes she owns, in case they infect the clean ones in the wardrobe with once-worn-itis.

In my ongoing quest:

I will make frequent, generous assurances of my elaborate DIY plans, explaining to Wife that I will require my toolbox, a clear day, the bench in the shed, and several small items from B&Q. When reminded of these assurances, I will be wounded. The intention was surely enough? Meanwhile, I will observe Wife steadily getting through her own list of DIY tasks (aka, 95% of what needs doing), but will conclude that since these tasks never seem to require the purchase of special equipment and are always easily managed around a toddler, they are clearly not very demanding.

I will not enquire how you paint a room with a wakeful and strong-willed toddler, either. It must be easy.

DH must be pretty good, as it has taken me a while to think of how I can be more Dad. Here we are though:

I'll purchase oversized items on-line without giving much thought to where they will be stored. By which I mean 6 man tents, microbrewery stills and so forth, when we live in a two bed flat. These items will take up residence in the middle of the kitchen or hall. When the DP loses patience and demands such oversized items must be found a suitable home I'll get in a tizz and plaintively mew "I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it!!"

Despite the fact that I usually have a couple of days a week at home child free, it will be the DP, with one spare hour per month that reorganises cupboards, lists crap on Ebay and takes stuff to the charity shop and generally strategises the space to accommodate my hobby kit and make the home livable.

Now as regards packing for holidays, I refuse to get involved and on at least one occasion DH has arrived at destination with either no socks or no T-shirts, which he finds sufficiently embarrassing to take more care in future.

I will be confident in my knowledge that I know best in all things, and be steadfast in my rejection of any possibility that my wife or teenage son might know better than me.

My opinion remains the correct one at all times, even if a point I express happens to be identical to an incorrect point expressed by someone else a year ago. Any recollection that I rejected this very point in the past is false and attributable to their overactive imaginations.

If multiple people insist that this false memory is in fact true, this is collusion intended to undermine and annoy me, because my opinion is undoubtedly correct and always has been.

My family will never roll their eyes at each other behind my back and wait for me to decide that something was my idea all along.

I know what would be a great wheeze-I'll go up for yet another shite to the bathroom and a little lie down whilst my dearest one is cooking a full Sunday dinner, but totally ignore the clean clothes in the bed waiting to be put away. I'm sure dearest won't mind when it's bedtime.

Oh yes I do this too. I like to sneak upstairs and have a nap, and because DW must really enjoy sorting and folding the laundry, I kick it all off the bed so she can do it again when I've finished my nap.

Although everything Sarah and Quack mentions is also true.

When I change the baby I'll make sure none of things I need are nearby when I start so that the baby ends up crawling around covered I poo while I locate the wipes and nappies. Also I will never ever close the lid on the wet wipes (or as they're called in this house dry wipes)

But is that the answer? Just wave a white flag and women should all stop working?

Of course it isn't! Did I say that? By the way, I'm not a SAHM and my DH only does a few of these things, but my point is, I think we are serverat lacking in solidarity if we place the blame on women when they decide to stop fighting the bloody battle every day and focus on trying to do one thing well instead of spreading themselves too thinly between paid work and wifework. I grew up believing the myth that women could "have it all" and that women who don't manage this are going wrong somewhere. It's bullshit. We're holding mothers to impossible standards.

*severely lacking ffs

I'm going to complain that we are going to be late, only to actually begin to get dressed once my wife has got herself and the children dressed

I’m going to take myself off for a nap whenever I please then seem surprised and slightly sad that time didn’t stop and my family have carried on with life in the meantime.

Next time we're looking for somewhere to have lunch out I'll mew several times that "I don't want to end up having a burger", reject numerous suggestions, and when we finally sit down to eat some where with an extensive menu selected to keep me happy, I'll order a burger.

Mine will always be the order that takes the longest to prepare (e.g. DW - cheese and onion toastie, me - mega burger with all the trimmings) then moan about how long the food takes to come.

I'll also moan about the cost of it, without a trace of irony, despite the fact that my own food and drink accounts for half the bill when three people ate out together e.g. a mega burger and large glass of red for me, toastie and tap water for the wife: "That was expensive!" in shocked tones.

@twotabbycats - you must be living with my DP. i’m so sorry.

as well as ignoring the fact that the ash pan needs emptying in order for the wood burner to light, i will put an envelope, a tealight and four large, wet logs in it and spend five fucking hours dithering about wondering why it won’t light.

this of course involves spending most of the evening bent double blocking of my partner’s view of the telly, and ignoring the fact that she spent some of the 90s living in a lorry and MANAGED TO LIGHT A FUCKING WOOD BURNER EVERY SINGLE DAY, and might therefore know how to do it.

also, i will leave my socks on the floor in front of the washing machine, so that the underfloor heating can waft their stench across the ground floor of the house like a malevolent Yankee Candle named ‘Feet’.

I shall announce that I will Clean The House, putting everyone on immediate red alert status. This will require everything that touches the floor in a bedroom to be placed on the bed. It will not require actual dusting with a cloth, since dirt only touches the floors. I will then vacuum starting with the spare room which is never used, working my way downstairs gradually. I will run out of energy approximately at the kitchen door. You have made that room too dirty with All That Cooking and I Cannot Face It.
Please take your own things off your bed, as I am Now Tired.

I will treat my DPs job commitments as a nuisance, as all the job does is pay for food, housing, etc.

I will insist on our family moving to a remote location then complain about spending money on travel.

When I'm on my feet I will make a huffing noise so that everyone knows JUST HOW BUSY I am.

I will sneer at anyone who spends money on things I cannot afford.

I will make only basic dishes myself, but when someone else is spending time cooking I will say really helpful things like "I would cut that a bit thinner" and "that needed more dill". I will also leave my dishes for someone else to put in the dishwasher to ensure consistency.

I will take credit for stuff when I wasn't even there - i.e. "We decorated the house ourselves", or "It took us all summer to paint this fence."

When my DP hangs clothes up to dry, I will be really helpful and rearrange them for no reason.

I will insist I am too busy to run errands for other people, while at the same time assuming my DP has access to a wormhole allowing for two hours worth of tasks to be done in a 30min lunch.

Other people's interests and hobbies will be treated with disinterest, if not outright contempt - however, my own are so crucial as to require others to commit their time and energy so that I can enjoy them.

I will repeatedly fart on the couch, but get indignant if the bathroom isn't springtime fresh.

I will wind the dog up just before bedtime/going out and leaving him.

After a trip to IKEA, while we're making furniture, I will demand to know what my partner has done with the screws/brackets/screw driver, order him to check all the empty boxes for them and finally accuse him of accidentally throwing them away before standing up to reveal that I was sitting on them the whole time. EVERY time.

I'll make a huge deal of the one dish I'm cooking when we have people over, and badger my partner (who is trying to get on with cooking seven or eight dishes) with questions about how to braise, and blanche etc. I will also have bought numerous expensive ingredients that I only need a teaspoon of in order to make this dish (rather than seeing what we had in that could be used as a substitute) and the remnants of these fine, gourmet products will then fester in a cupboard until my partner throws them out.

I will do something fairly dangerous or stupid almost every time I drive, but when my partner gasps in horror at the near miss, I will pretend that I had it all under control and that by gasping she almost made me crash.

Option 3 (other than put up and leave it or do it yourself): Leave them as soon as it is clear that they are happy pretending to be inept and search round the gene pool (or own pool whichever suits) for the rare one that isn't an utter bellend.

I left Ex because of the sheer stress of having to do everything, leave a list for him when he had the baby, cope with his mess and then have him complain that I was complaining!

Since then I have found a better man. He hoovered, washed clothes, earned a very good wage, paid the mortgage, great with the baby, tidied after every meal, was good in bed too! Unfortunately I realize, it’s still so unequal! Just not as bad as mister Ex 1....

Aaaarghh!

I will wait until we are on the way home from the vets with a post operative dog and then decide I need to pop into a camping shop urgently and buy something I'm not likely to need for several months, while leaving my other half to nurse the post operative dog in the car park.

A week later I will drive my partner to a hospital appointment where they will have a procedure that they have been dreading for months. My partner will emerge dazed and traumatised from the procedure with tubes protruding from orifices and wired up to portable recorders. Instead of driving my partner straight home so that they can recover I will embark on a diversion of several miles to hand in some paperwork which is not due in for 5 days anyway. I will then drive home and spend the day fielding calls from concerned relatives and tell them how I am looking after my partner so well and being a great help and support.

like a malevolent Yankee Candle named ‘Feet’

I love that description

I’m brutal with this shite.

“You’re levying a tax on my time,”

“You do actually live here,”

“I’m not doing your thinking for you,”

“Use your working and long-term memory instead of mine,”

Most people think I’m horrible. I use all the time and mental space I save to NOT CARE.

I will assume that time goes at my pace and that everything will wait for me, then will act surprised when I am late for every regular activity the children do. I will spend the time leading up to the activity yelling and shouting at everyone to hurry up and make it all as stressful as possible ( the children preferably will be in tears) before dragging everyone out, without the rackets, or water bottles, or swimming trunks they need. I will then act like a f@cking hero for the rest of the weekend for having taken them to aforementioned activity and demand some ‘me’ time.