|Forget that! Get her a taller pair of heels. Louboutin perhaps? No? I'll take them!|
B's and my dumb roommate dropped a glass on the floor the other day. Our floors are all tile, pretty hard tile at that. Maybe marble? Whatever type of tile they are, the glass shattered across the floor. He swept up the majority of it half-assedly.
A few days go by. I'm in the kitchen making dinner, barefoot. Shoes track in a shit load of sand and it's been pretty rainy the last few days. I step over to the stove and....."Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Mixing dinner with profanity. I am a true lady.
B looked up from his studies, concerned.
"Got a piece of glass stuck in my fooooot. I need a warm tub of water. OW!"
I went to grab a broom so I could sweet the damn floor -- properly.
B stopped filling up a bowl of water. Took the broom out of my hand.
"Go sit down, Charlotte."
"I've seen the crazy hobble before." he said.
Charlotte is my mother.
I sat down soaking my foot while B swept up and came over to look at the glass stuck in my heel.
"Wow, you really stomped on that. It's in there pretty deep. It's small, but sharp."
He went upstairs and came back with a glove on one hand, Neosporin and a bandaid in the other. He teased out the piece of glass. Blood slowly dripped into the rag he cleaned my foot off with. I howled, because I'm a baby like that and that piece of glass was in there deep. He told me he needed to cut off the little piece of skin covering the puncture so he could properly clean it. I refused. No way, Dr. B. And don't call me my mother ever again.
I realize it though. I get all upset about people cleaning things up half way and not doing a good enough job. I catch myself wanting B to stay out of the kitchen because That's MY space. I want to slaughter The Roommates for not putting away their motherfucking dishes OR emptying the dishwasher. Just because I'm the only woman in the house does not make me the damn maid. I want to put a sign above the sink saying WASH YOUR OWN DISHES.
To be fair, they aren't filthy pigs. There aren't flies floating around our garbage and everything is generally clean. But, if there are dishes in the sink, does anyone empty the clean dishwasher? No. They pile the dishes in the sink until I empty the dishwasher. B told me, "Stop doing their dishes, Emily"
"No! It won't fucking get down otherwise!"
He looked at me like he wished I wasn't Charlotte.
"It will get done."
Ahh. Good old fashioned gender roles. They exist and are perpetuated even without The Church. How much about women staying home and cooking and cleaning was engrained in us through The Church and how much did we learn from society? Both roommates are from very traditional families. J is Asian and A is from The South. B, well he puts his dishes in the dishwasher, Thank You Very Much. He takes out the trash. Sometimes he makes dinner. And he always helps clean up, even just a little bit. His mom worked his whole life and his dad stayed home. He's used to seeing his dad do the dishes.
My dad, I've seen him do the dishes maybe twice? He works hard for my mom to spend as much money as she does and let me tell you -- Charlotte is no saint.
I just wonder. Is it The Church? Society? Family? All three?
And how do I keep my kids from thinking Mama does the wash and Papa does the real work.
B and I have a unique situation. He goes to school all day long and studies. I write small posts for a blog back home and babysit every other day. I run the school's little Coffee Cart once a week. I definitely have more time on my hands. But, should that mean I clean up everyone's shit? I don't think so. I'll do B's laundry. I'm already doing my own. I'll make dinner, I need to eat too. B likes to help when he has the time. He always comes down and sits with me while I cook so I don't feel alone.
I don't want to be one of those women that treats their husbands like a mental retard when it comes to all things House Related. Is there a line that needs to be drawn? Is there a line? Should there be?
How do you handle these areas in your own relationships?
Did they differ once you were no longer a believer? Once you no longer bought into that 1950's Stereotype Bullshit?
Am I a little bit grouchy today?