“A Woman's Work is Never Done.” I heard my mother, my grandmother, and almost every other
woman I ever met when I was a child say that phrase. I never knew what it meant til I grew up,
got married and had kids of my own. It means that no matter what you teach them, your sons
will automatically forget where the refrigerator, kitchen, sink, stove, grocery store, hamper and
washing machine are located as soon as he places that little gold band on your left ring finger.
He will also forget the location of anything edible in the pantry shelves, what the children are/are
not allowed to eat, how to read the label on over-the-counter pain relievers and various other
medicines, and how to find his own socks.
Women learn how to care for children by caring for their husbands! I swear, men all revert back
to the age of eight or nine as soon as the wedding reception is over. The conversation goes like
this:
HIM: What's for breakfast?
YOU: I just ate an hour ago.
HIM: But I'm hungry. Is it such an imposition to make me something to eat?
YOU: If you want something to eat, go in the kitchen and get it.
HIM: Fine.
He says it's fine, but he pouts all day, and doesn't make himself a sandwich because now he's
mad because you aren't anything like Dear Old Mom, who was so much faster than you in the
kitchen, and would hand cut french fries if he wanted them for supper, to save the extra few
cents. When dinnertime rolls around, he's “ about to cave in”, but you have to call him twice before he comes to the table, because he's watching something or other on the TV and he just
can't miss this next part. He's like a granny watching her stories during the day. Then he has to
stop and pet the dog, the cat, and your son's pet iguana on his way to the table.
Meanwhile,
dinner is getting colder by the second, your kids are waiting impatiently because they're hungry,
too, and you're fighting the strong desire to flush his dinner right down the garbage disposal.
He leaves his dirty clothes anywhere except the hamper, and cusses under his breath in the
morning if he can't find the pair of socks he wanted in his sock drawer, because you didn't
match them the right way. There are no less than fifteen of the exact same kind of pairs of socks
in the drawer, all the same age, and he knows the difference if one is out of place.
That conversation goes like this:
HIM: I can't find my socks!
YOU: Look in the drawer!
HIM: I did- there aren't any that match.
YOU: What the hell?! They are all the same kind of sock! Put some on, and get on with it.
HIM: They are NOT. You didn't match them right.
YOU: Then YOU match them, and find your own damn socks, I'm busy!
He cusses under his breath, and pouts all day because he doesn't understand why you can't tell
the difference between his socks.
Men forget how to read when they get married, too. They don't know what to take when they
hurt or are sick, so they just whine all day about it..That conversation goes this way:
HIM: My back hurts.
YOU: Take some Tylenol.
HIM: Where is it?
YOU: In the medicine cabinet.
HIM: (2 seconds later) I can't find it.
YOU: It's on the top shelf, right in front of you.
HIM: How much do I take?
YOU: ( sighing in irritation and rubbing your temples) Take two.
HIM: How many?
YOU: Two!
After the first two weeks of living this way, you realize that it's just plain easier to do it for him,
so you don't go insane from the pressure of following someone around who acts barely old
enough to have given up his blankie. You wonder when you became his mother. You wonder
why you became his mother. Then you see him pulling a dirty shirt out of the hamper to put on,
because he couldn't find his clean ones in the closet and realize why you became his mother. He
needs a keeper.
He really is just like a little kid. He has “Butt Radar”. Butt Radar is when he hollers for you at the
exact same instant your butt touches the seat of a chair, couch, toilet, or the water for a relaxing
bath. He has the "gimmes". The Gimmies are when he wants every cheesy contraption or gadget
he sees on TV or in a Wal-mart. He'll watch cartoons almost as long as the kids, and do the
Blue's Clues “ We Just Got a Letter” dance, and sing “Lo Hicimo”at the end of Dora the
Explorer, then turn into a teenager and grunt at you and snort when you try to explain something
or have a halfway intelligent conversation with him that doesn't involve guns, rifles, monster
trucks or what happened last night on WWE Friday Night Smackdown!.
Husbands revert to their earlier years of drowning ants in their hill, burning them under the magnifying glass, and doing stupid things on skateboards. Luckily for us, though, they do grow
up quickly when we need them to, like when the car breaks down, or we need to go somewhere
but can't drive ourselves. Giving birth is a pretty good reason not to drive yourself to the
hospital. The children love them dearly, because, no matter what, he still is their hero.
Now, if we could just get them to time their requests for when we aren't working on something
else, or when we just cleaned the kitchen...
