Since my first job at the age of 16, I’ve always maintained a pretty solid work reputation as someone who excels and is extremely reliable. At home, on the other hand, I’m ashamed to confess that I suffer from a semi-permanent damsel-in-distress status. Hours of deep thought went into finding the cause of this phenomenon and I finally found the answer: My husband makes me lazy.
Seriously, he’s to blame. At work, I know the answers. People ask me stuff. But somehow, when I cross that threshold and see him standing there, my brain silently packs its bags and vacates the premises. I suddenly have no clue how to do anything and the tiniest problems plague my empty head until I resort to wailing his name from the opposite end of the house, perfecting the sound of distress like only a wife could. Aside from lifting heavy stuff, killing scary bugs and giving me advice on everyday dilemmas, I’m ashamed to admit these are some of the other things I ask him to help me with:
- Compiling this list (*hides face*)
- Deciding what’s for dinner, and most times, cooking it. Due to a mild case of cooking-related ADD, I’ve been known to start preparing a meal, only to abandon it shortly afterwards for more interesting ventures such as watching TV, flexing my biceps in the mirror, texting my mom, etc.
- Coming up with ways to entertain me when I’m bored and suffering from cabin fever.
- Booking vacations.
- Assembling any item. This includes my new piano bench, which didn’t require tools. But this cannot be held against me simply because I LOATHE putting stuff together.
- Making me a midnight snack and bringing it to me in bed even though he knows I’m too sleepy to eat it.
- Fixing the crappy reception on our living room TV because I broke the antenna and haven’t replaced it yet. (We got rid of our cable.)
- Making sure I washed all the shampoo residue off the back of my neck.
- Helping me put on my Strap Perfect concealer clips. For some reason, I can insert contacts with one finger and no mirror, but I can’t get this friggin’ clip on without his assistance.
Despite this growing list, I am perfectly capable of handling business without his assistance, thankyouverymuch. Before we said “I do,” I lived on my own without incident. I cooked and cleaned, killed bugs and pretty much put out all life’s little fires that crop up on a daily basis, all by my lonesome. These days , I’m just a shadow of my former self and as a result, he believes my needy, incapable tendencies represent how I operate all the time, which is so not true.
Even after countless conversations and solid examples of my exemplary professional performance, he’s still not convinced. And the fact that I avoided putting out the trash bin last week when he was gone because I was creeped out by that huge, scary spider in the driveway doesn’t exactly help my case. Sure, it was dead, but still.
Moving forward, I will make an effort to bring home the take-charge attitude I have at work. To be fair to myself, he too, has his moments of neediness but that still doesn’t mean I don’t have room for improvement. My mom has the hugest fear of me becoming one of those Lifetime stories where the pampered, clueless wife arrives home to a disgruntled husband who, out of nowhere, hands her a set of divorce papers and leaves her to fend for herself. She has no idea what the mortgage payment is, where to find the checkbook and hasn’t held a job since a typewriter was typical office equipment.
But a Lifetime special based on my life shall not become my fate. Besides, I’ve already decided to handle my own car renewal inspection and overdue oil change instead of asking the hubs to do it. Now, this TV that’s freezing up during my favorite episode of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” and making me miss all the good punchlines? That…is a job for the husband.