Dog Puke and Garbage Diggin... That's A Husband Job!

How I interpret the first few minutes of my day are very important. Those first few minutes used to be the determining factor on how the rest of the day went. Today I woke up at 5:30am and checked my audition and casting status. Nothing was sent or posted for work. My wife came down and promptly dropped her lighter into the garbage can. It, of course, fell to the bottom. We recycle as much as possible so the contents of our garbage consists of cigarette butts, coffee grounds, food remains and general goo.

I don't know who made the rule but there is an unwritten code for retrieving things from the garbage after your wife has dropped something into it. It's "the husband's job." She conveyed reams of information in her simple remark of "I dropped my lighter in the garbage." I speak Squeakenese and heard her loud and clear. I put on my "Husband Cape" and dug into the slop to retrieve her lost lighter. Of course, it had snaked its way down to the very bottom of the can and I felt like I was rummaging through the waste bucket at a butcher shop.

I completed the mission with dignity and my husbandry value went up a point or two. As I was washing my hands free of the gunk I had just handled, I turned to hear the familiar sound of a dog throwing up. It was Fabian. My best, non-human, friend. He had deposited two heaping piles of warm dinner leftovers all over our kitchen. From the looks of things, I think I'm feeding him too much because one pile looked like Lake Michigan. The other pile was Lake Superior, only lumpy, like old Lake Erie.

Again my wife shot me the "puke clean-up is the husband's job" look but also added the "It's your dog," rolling of the eyes, to accentuate her point. Who defined the "husband" and "wife" job description? Obviously it was the wives of our Neanderthal ancestors! I say that as an observation of fact, not with disdain. It is just a simple fact. Why are women able to bend and reshape these rules as needed? Her duties are a loose outline. Mine are orders to be executed with precision.

Let me illustrate my point. Squeaky has no problem asking me to "run the vacuum" or "do a load of laundry." That would never happen in the "Beaver's house." Ricky never scrubbed the floor while Lucy went to the "Babaloo" club. These jobs are defined in the handbook as "wife jobs." Why can the woman switch these ancient norms at will? Her telling me to "go grocery shopping" or "make dinner" rolls off her tongue like ordering a latte from Starbucks. The "wife jobs" are open for female interpretation and can be altered or eliminated at the behest of the rule maker.

"Husband jobs" are written in stone. They are carved into granite like the 10 Commandments. She will not kill a spider or take the garbage out! There will be no cleaning of dog deposits of any kind, ever! When we prepare to go somewhere she casually strolls to the passenger side of the car. It is a "husband job" to "drive Miss Daisy." I feel like Morgan Freeman confessing that he took the can of tomatoes when I eat one of "her" Lean Cuisines. It is as if I have taken the forbidden fruit and I am cast out of Eden for an hour or so after a tiny, unsatisfying meal.

She will not take her car through the car wash. She will not answer the door if a stranger knocks. She will not clean the dog hair from our stairs, nor brush them when they are shedding! I am directed to clean the dining room or dust. If she wants a late night snack to satisfy her menstrual cravings, I jump up and run to the store to satisfy her hormonal distress. Where is the justice?

Being on my fourth marriage, advice from me could be considered suspect. I do know this. When I was a younger man, I challenged her on her rule interpretations and quirky pet peeves like leaving time blinking on the microwave or not putting the mail in her "mail reading spot." In time when I would get irritated at one of her seemingly ridiculous requests or quirks, I would ask myself a simple question, "Is it really that big of a deal to do it her way?" "Do I want to ruin my evening because I think it's stupid to hit clear when I am done nuking a sandwich?" The answer is NO!

I am glad my wife depends on me and I don't have to have everything my way. What makes me right and her wrong? I am a firm believer in the old adage that,"When the Queen is happy everyone is happy. When the Queen ain't happy ain't nobody happy!" I love my wife and accept her goofy nuances and eccentricities, as she does mine. She has put up with a lot of crap with me and never once hit me with a frying pan. That's why the fourth time has been a charm for me. I'll have to say goodbye for now. Miss Daisy wants to go to Walmart. "Be there in a minute Miss Daisy...uh...I mean honey!"