Do All Married Men Sleep Early?

Posted on April 17, 2009

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Even Toby sleeps early. Then again, he sleeps anywhere, anytime.

Even Toby sleeps early. Then again, he sleeps anywhere, anytime.

This post came about at the behest of my constantly ticking mind. At the risk of sounding rather presumptuous, I shall attribute it to my unusual ability to talk about something from nothing.

So what prompted this unusual post? Curiouser and curiouser, I found myself enjoying mundane chores more since Michele and me purchased and moved into our humble abode last year. I’ve allowed myself the time to appreciate the nicer things in life that precludes a computer, a videogame console and sometimes (just sometimes), Toby.

Chores that used to irk me now seem to sing the sweetest song. The aberration that was house cleaning used to mean an uneventful and lacklustre hour of non-communication and wondering which last level boss I could have cleared if I wasn’t cleaning the house. Now, I (almost) look forward to the weekends, where vacuuming and mopping is the order of the day.

I’ve also began to enjoy arranging things. Like a fussy bonsai-lover I trim off stuff I do not enjoy looking at anymore, water and nourish the new spot with a good sanitizing wipe and re-pot my paraphernalia with much aplomb. Sometimes, I do it when Michele’s away at work, and I get a real kick telling her excitedly over the phone, how neat the house is and how much she’ll enjoy the new look I’ve created.

Dishwashing, a task that never ceases to bore me when I lived with my folks, has attained a higher status on my ‘evolutionary tree of tasks’. There’s nothing more empowering than rolling up your sleeves, hearing the swishing swirl of hot water into the basin and smelling the factory-grade liquid detergent doing its thang on the grimy and oily. I am doing the dishes. You can’t eat unless I wash them. Food cannot be served until this is done. Your hunger is at my discretion.

Speaking of food, in the past twelve months I’ve begun to read simple recipe books, cut out interesting (but easy-to-do) recipes from magazines and took an interest in what’s in the pantry. Don’t listen to the big, brawny men out there who make cooking out to be some form of modern emasculation. The kitchen’s not always the domain of your wives. Just as much as you appreciate your hot grid girls next to your fast cars, there’s always a place for men who cook (good) food and watching your other half enjoying what you’ve fastidiously prepared.

In the dual-working couple times we live in today, you’ll look forward to your evening home if your husband tells you he’s cooking tonight. Yes. He’s in charge tonight. He’ll dictate what does into your stomach. He loves you that much and as much as he’ll vehemently deny, he enjoys the power he has over you (albeit temporarily).

There’s really quite a lot to do at home. If you sit down and think about it, it’s almost mind-boggling. When you live in your own home and there’s no one around to do your own laundry, pay the bills or tick off the grocery list, you’re constantly asking yourself. Have I forgotten something? Are the windows closed? Is my dog fed? Do I still qualify for discounts if I pay my bills by this week? Oh my god, is there self-raising flour in the pantry? What time are the Smiths coming this weekend? Is the house presentable?!

So, to conclude this rather irrelevant post on nothing, I shall answer my question.

It depends. If the men burden themselves with all the chores, they will burn out fast and probably end up in bed before the missus. Then again, how many men out there actually enjoy housekeeping and chores?

Myself? There’s nothing better than a couple of serves of port after dinner. That way, you’ll be knocked out by 11pm. That was how Michele found me last night in bed. That way, I don’t have to listen to her whining about not putting her into bed, stroking her hair or singing her my wedding speech.

But don’t tell her I said that. :O

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