Last Friday, Herb Dean or Mills Lane must have been hiding in my apartment somewhere because shit got crazy between me and my fiancée real quick. Not fist fight crazy. I would never throw hands at my woman. Got a dropkick in my back pocket if I need it tho.
That’s a joke. Chill, internet..
Here’s how it started. I was sitting at the table putting a little bit of time into a side project I am working on. My sweet dear fiancée who I love and I cherish comes home from a long work day. She is currently working four 10 hour days per week for the sake of one day off, a prize for doing some shit at work that I obviously forgot because I don’t listen. In addition to that, she has been doing most of the house work at home. She cooks semi-healthy dinners. She loads and unloads the dishwasher. She maintains a reasonably clean shared space in the apartment. And me? Well I sit on my ass because somebody around here has to!
I don’t have as much time to spend on household chores because my side project takes up a lot of my at home free time. I do sit on my ass most of the time, but it’s in front of my computer for hours getting paid to create something amazing. So basically it’s a second job that I wanted and I took on for the benefit of my wallet and my career.
I do some things at home. The obscure things. I hide the step ladder and oblige in reaching the high places for things that are unreachable for the more vertically challenged among us. I defeat the toilet goblins that invade the bathroom once or twice a month. I cuddle the cats as punishment when they misbehave. I point out when things are out of place or could use a bit of maintenance. I manage. Not her. Anyone listening. It’s usually her that has to oblige though because she doesn’t keep those damn cats in line.
More jokes. Fucking chill..
Anyway, she gets home and I have left a single dish in the sink. It’s the only dish. She asked me that morning to put that dish in the dishwasher so that it would not be lonely. The loneliness of a dish is the least of my worries so it slipped my mind. She asked me to do it again then went to change out of her work clothes. I went to load the dish but then I noticed that the dishwasher nightclub was entirely full and this dish was going to have to wait for people to leave or go find some hot chicks for whom there is always room. So I put the dish back in the sink and went back to working at the table.
When she came out of the room, she glanced in the sink and had to make a decision. I cannot presume to know what goes through a woman’s mind but I won’t doubt that cracking me upside the head with that plate wasn’t outside her realm of ideas. However she took the high road and simply inquired:
“I thought you were going to put your plate in the dishwasher.”
It was at this point that I should have known I was in trouble. It was true that I was originally absent minded but this time I had actually attempted to do what she asked when she asked for it. I simply replied:
“The dishwasher is full.”
I was not ready for what was to happen next. I figured this resolved the issue given you can’t add to something that is already full. I was wrong:
“So why didn’t you start the dishwasher?” she snapped.
OK folks. Let’s take a look at what just happened here. I forgot to do something she asked, which created a bit of tension. Then I seemingly disregarded her final request, which pretty much started the fire. The fire started the moment she saw the plate in the sink yet again. My defense had no weight regardless of the logic behind it. Starting the dishwasher wasn’t necessarily the next logical step, but it would have been a proactive gesture to ease the tension given I was wrong in the first place. From her perspective, that gesture, though not directly requested, was the expectation and I failed to do any of it. The tone in her voice caused me to react negatively. And so the bell rang and the match began.
We spent the rest of the evening and the weekend fighting over household responsibilities. She doesn’t want to feel like a housewife. I don’t feel like I have the free time for house work.
It took a toll on everything. I still have the bullet wounds.
The lesson I learned was something I already knew. There was a split second on that Friday when I knew that I should back down, admit guilt, and promise to do better next time. Instead I defended. It’s not a battle if you don’t defend. So on Sunday, I waved the white flag. I sent her a text message soon after a recent bout telling her that I would try to do what she wants. Next time I need to figure this out before shots are fired and half the house is burned to the ground.