Open letter to my husband…

Dearest Husband, or shall I say, “Maid”,

I would like to call you out on something publicly since you made your declaration of being “the maid” in a like manner.

Do you know the true meaning of the word “maid”? A maid is someone who does the shit jobs that no one else wants to do, like, I don’t know; mopping the kitchen floor, spending an hour on hands and knees scrubbing out the errant attempts of housetraining the dog, the cleaning and putting away of laundry. And while you certainly do a lot more than most men, and shame on those men who do not do more for their wives especially as the ’70’s were about far more than disco, you are by far, in no way shape or form, THE MAID. Perhaps it is because I have a higher standard of cleanliness than your former betrothed, that I am not more impressed with your cleaning abilities. I do not find wiping down the kitchen counter tops to warrant the phrase, “I cleaned the kitchen.” What you did was stop the Board of Health from putting a little sign on the door with the words, “CONDEMNED” written on them. The true meaning of CLEANING THE GODFORSAKEN KITCHEN means that you could eat off the floor. If you cannot make that statement in good faith, the job is not done.

The “maid” would never leave a mound of clothes sitting in a basket all weekend while his/her employer worked; promising that the task would be complete when upon the end of work day. The “maid” would never just rinse out dishes and leave them on the counter tops to be put into the empty dishwasher. Do you know what happens to a maid with such shotty skills? HE GETS FIRED!

Now, under normal circumstances, I would have just chuckled and said a little “Yeah, right!” under my breath. However, remember a month ago when I was out of work but constantly taking Luke and Alexa to the doctors? Remember the time you came home from work all pissy and put out and said, “The house doesn’t look as good as when I left this morning.” And then made the implication that HOW DARE I spend an afternoon making cupcakes for Alexa’s Christmas party the following the day. Do you remember that? It still stings a bit, and the implication that you find yourself to be the maid, just makes my teeth itch.

If you feel the need to refer to yourself as the maid, you must stop sighing and referring to yourself as a slave when you are asked to help out. Case in point, this morning when I had gotten the kids up for the day; made them breakfast; picked out Alexa’s clothes and made her lunch. GOD FORBID you are asked to put her clothes on her (JUST HER!!!) and look for socks. I heard the audible sigh fall from your lips and I internally punched Baby Jesus in the face in an effort to alleviate the frustration that I felt towards you.

Let me say loud and clear that I do not EXPECT you to do anything more than what you are currently doing. What I EXPECT is that you do not think of yourself as the only person who does anything around here and perhaps, even, maybe, show a little bit of appreciation. I show it to you and I do appreciate everything you do for me. And while this may come off as snarky and bitchy, which in truth is how it’s intended to, I love you very much and think the world of you.

Today, after you return from laying flooring at my sister’s house, I will have cleaned the kitchen (COMPLETELY!); spent an hour scrubbing up dog pee off our bedroom floor; fed Luke lunch and put him down for a nap; cleaned and put away four loads of laundry; vacuum the living room and dining room; pick Alexa up from school and have dinner waiting on the table for you. That sounds like a fair split to me, Mr. Maid, and not the uneven distribution of tasks to one person.

I love you,

Your loving wife and slave-driver

~ by momheymom on January 31, 2008.