I think my husband may have outsmarted me into doing some household chores.
See, I’m not housewife material. My family is fortunate enough to have always had house help ever since we were born, so growing up we have always had the luxury of having someone else attend to our daily needs (In case you didn’t know, it is quite normal for a middle-class family in my country to have house help. Other, more privileged families have more than one employee). And unlike most girls, I hate cooking. I cannot stand the heat emanating from the stove, and besides I can’t identify ingredients. The most that I do is help out washing the dishes occasionally (which I didn’t mind as much because the water was cool) and reorganizing my own closet and bookshelf (which almost always triggers an asthma attack).
I used to call myself an anti-domestic girl, and my husband has always been aware of this even before he started courting me.
When we got engaged, he had a talk with my mother, and she told him, “She is used to having house help. She does not know how to do household chores. She doesn’t know how to cook or iron clothes. She cannot even tell the difference between onion and garlic.”
Smiling, my husband (then fiance) replied, “Yes, I am aware of that… I have heard the story.”
Although he has always known that I don’t come with any housekeeping skills, he still wanted to marry me. He knew that the package didn’t include housewife functionalities.
Living in Singapore, however, I cannot escape from chores as this is part of independent living. The most that we can afford is once-every-two-weeks cleaning services (mostly to clean the bathroom and iron our clothes). We cannot afford a full-time maid. All other chores, we do together. We do the laundry together, clean our room together. On some days, he cooks our meal and I wash the dishes. Maintaining our love nest is a team effort.
Lately though, I’ve been noticing a pattern. A mountain of clothes in the laundry pile. Clothing hanging to dry for too many days. A stash of clean clothes left unfolded on the couch. I can stand these situations only for so long. Once my patience runs out, I do them myself. I wash the clothes, collect them when they’re dry, and fold them into neat stacks.
Is my husband just being lazy or is he masterminding this grand plan to trick me into doing household chores? I think it’s the latter. Sneaky. Tsk tsk.
I threw a pretend tantrum the other night, complaining about why I’m doing these tasks all by myself. He wooed me by saying, “You’re such a good wife! You wash our clothes, hang them, collect them, fold them; You wash the dishes, you sometimes clean, you take out the garbage from the bathroom… Then you will learn how to cook and iron clothes…”
No. Just, no.