Keris Stainton‘s weekly column about married life…
When David and I first moved in together (before we were married … shocking, I know!) we started to have some rows. We’d never rowed before, but once we lived together … oh dear.
What did we row about? Cleaning. Yes, cleaning. We’d both lived alone for a while. Neither of us was what you would call a good housekeeper. Once we lived together we discovered that the flat needed to be cleaned and neither one of us was keen to do it.
One day David said something like, “The kitchen could do with a clean” and I nearly took his head off. Why was it my job to clean it? Because I was a woman? We both worked – was I expected to come home from work and start cleaning? Did he think I was his mother? David backed away, fear in his eyes. One of us cleaned the kitchen. I’m not sure, but I imagine it was probably him.
Then one day, because he’s not that quick a learner, he told me we were out of loo rolls. “Who made me loo roll monitor? Are you incapable of buying loo rolls? If you notice we’re getting low on loo rolls why would you think ‘I must tell Keris’ rather than ‘I must buy loo rolls’? Is it because I’m a woman? I work, just like you do! Do you think I’m you mother?” One of us bought loo rolls. I’m not sure, but I imagine it was probably him.
I’m not much of a cook. David loves to cook. He cooks. I tend not to notice mess. Or dirt. Or when the laundry basket needs emptying. David does. He probably puts a wash on about five times more frequently than me (of course he doesn’t unball his socks – they go in the wash balled, get washed balled and then he places them on the radiator, still balled). He empties the bins. He does the dishes. He hoovers.
And me? Um … I’m very grateful.