Stick a Fork in Me
Hubs was at the ice rink again tonight (shocker, I know). And all the time we’ve spent there got me thinking of the days I spent there, long before it was an ice rink, dreaming of the day I’d get married.
Of course, you know what I’m talking about. WAYYYY back when it was that store? You know, the one where you’d pick out your thing? The one thing on the shelf, and then you’d wait for the magical Keebler Elves behind the wall to shove it out onto the looooong conveyor that would wind around and you’d see your shit coming and you’d get all excited over your order.
“I SEE IT COMING!!!”
Yeah. My friend NancyPants was a cashier there, apparently. Small world.
Shopping there for toys was a real treat. But the real magic was when I was tiny, and to distract me or make me stay put or whatever (?) my mom would hang a hard right just inside the front doors and there in the corner was a display to the ceiling…of silverware.
I’d park my ass there to pick out a pattern. You know, for one day when I could get married? It was only like one of thee biggest decisions of your life.
And however the hell old I was, I took that job seriously. We also weren’t going to wait around on a wedding day for that flatware, no. Before BoxTops for Education, Betty Crocker had her own thing. You could cash in points for FREE shit. Boom.
So in our house, for who-knows-how-many years before I ACTUALLY got married, we had this:
Yeah. One fork. But it was MY fork. And I used it. I’m pretty sure my mom still has it. And I’m sorry for all the stupid shit that we used to and continue to tell little girls about what is important in life.
And because now that I hang out in that building where the blades are on the bottom of ice skates, not in boxed gift sets of steak knives, I do it (usually) in shifts with a dude who I share dishwasher loading-and-unloading duties with, among other things. And we agree on a lot. First off, that our silverware SUCKS, and that there’s things that he’s good at and things I’m good at.
This is not a listicle. If it was, it would be called “27 Things My Husband Does Better Than Me, and Vice-Versa, You’ll Be SHOCKED When You See What He Does With The Onion!”
And you’d have to click through each page and you’d accidentally click on a bunch of ads. But I’m not a jerk like that.
- Stuffing the pillowcase. Okay, so this is really more like tucking the excess pillow case. We have king pillow cases and these really annoying standard foam pillows that the Costco cashier said were THE BEST and I have hated them since day one. I must have been a hotel maid in my previous life because I just have a habit of easily wrangling the pillow in and tucking the excess fabric in on itself and the Hubs will stand there IN AWE trying to figure out how in the hell I do it. He cannot.
2. Our social calendar. This is 100% Hubs. If you try to make plans with me, expect my eyes to glaze over.
3. Medical appointment calendar: This is 90% me. I schedule all medical visits, but refuse to schedule dental appointments for my husband. Because I am not his mother.
4. Lawncare. I trim three shrubs one time a year. This is known as the “one day I go outside”. I think one of Hubs’ coworkers was lucky enough to witness a sighting of this a few years back. Lucky. Probably won’t happen again. I used to trim four shrubs one time a year but one of them died. Because I suck at keeping things alive. All other green (and other colored things) outdoors are his thing. He is excellent at it. People call him for advice.
5. Knowing when we are out of aluminum foil: Him.
6. Knowing when we are out of bleach: Me. All day. And we are always out because there is not enough bleach on the planet. Ever.
7. Scrubbing toilets with a brush: Him.
8. Scrubbing toilets with a pumice stone: Me.
9. Operation of electronics: Him. All of it. Ask anyone to testify to his DJ skills. I can just barely turn on the TV. I’m like everyone’s 84 year old aunt, visiting from out of town. Every day. Can’t run the remote. He tries to make it easier for me by having one password for everything. Which I have to ask him ANY TIME I try logging into anything. And he gets annoyed that I forgot it. Again.
10. Birthday cards for everyone in his family: Me. If you did not get a birthday card on one or more occasion, this is because I kind of suck at this too, but not nearly as bad as he does.
11. Teaching the children mildly dangerous stunts: Him.
12. Teaching the children mildly boring trivia: Me.
13. Following recipes to include carefully measuring ingredients: Completely him. And he is completely annoyed that I totally eyeball everything I cook. Everything. I might use a measuring cup AS A SCOOPER, but that’s about it. If a recipe calls for butter, I’m probably just going to use the whole stick. If you’ve seen him bust out his beaker collection for cocktails, well…
14. Speaking of cocktails: Him. Expert mixologist. Me if you want like, a beer. Or a REAL clammy clam digger.
15. Cleaning out the dryer’s lint filter: Him.
16. Cleaning out the washer’s disgusting as hell water filter: Me.
17. Squeegeeing the shower: Him.
18. Yarding the hair out of the shower drain: Me. (It’s mine, so this seems fair.)
There’s like a million other things that we have divided and conquered over the past 13 years. More than that, I am so glad I am where I’m at today, looking back at some of the ludicrous expectations women have had in the past as a measure of happiness.
What is your spouse awesome at that you suck at? What flatware pattern did you dream of as a little girl?
Originally published at dayleefix.blogspot.com on April 27, 2016.