A couple weeks ago I wrote a post detailing ten questions to ask a woman before you propose to her. The most critical omission on this list was noted by MikeSmrek:
4A. Are you willing to accept the fact I will do work around the house on the weekend if you ask me to do it, or will you get pissed off at the idea of having to ask me?
This, without question, the number one catalyst for everyday arguments between me and my Mrs. Let's say you just got married and you two are living in an apartment together. Let's say the trash is full. Here's what usually transpires:
WIFE: Hey honey, would you mind taking out the garbage?
YOU: Sure thing. No problem. (You take out the garbage.)
Okay, that's what happens when you're initially married. The wife asks you to do something. You do it. Task completed, let's drink wine and go bang in the shower. Now, fast-forward five years into the same marriage. Here now is that same exchange.
WIFE (annoyed): Will you take out the trash?
YOU: Okay. (You take out the garbage and come back.) Hey, why do you sound so annoyed?
WIFE: I shouldn't have to ask you to take out the trash.
YOU: But then how would I know it's full?
WIFE: I shouldn't have to ask you to do things. You should be able to recognize for yourself that the trash is full, and then go take it out.
YOU: Why? What difference does it make? I took the trash out.
YOU: Why you got such a bug up your ass?
WIFE: (legitimately mad) All I'm asking is that you help out more! Be a little more proactive.
BOOM! There it is. PROACTIVITY. "I shouldn't have to ask you." It's not enough for you, as a husband, to happily do assorted chores. No, no. No, you must take initiative with the chores, or else you're a dick. You're supposed to be a fucking psychic. This goes beyond garbage, of course. It's pretty easy to spot when the garbage is full and needs to be taken out. But what about the pantry? Is it mildly disorganized? Are your shoes taking up an unacceptable amount of room on the floor of the closet? When's the last time you bought STAMPS, asshole? All those things factor in, and more. Like a football player studying tape, you are expected to recognize situations and adjust accordingly.
I can't do this. Ever. I'm incapable of it because I am a man, and have a highly overcrowded brain. Here are the contents of my brain, the beginning and end of all my complete thoughts:
-When can I drink next?
That's it. That's everything in the cortex, and keeping all THAT organized is a big enough pain in the ass. I do not have time to anticipate every fucking chore or every fucking errand out there into my brain. There's no room.
But this is marriage, so of course the end result of any fight like this is, "Honey, I will do my best to take the initiative on these things." And that will satisfy your Mrs… until you forget to think of something AGAIN (which always happens) and the argument is repeated at a louder volume.
WIFE: You didn't empty the trash!
YOU: Oop. Sorry about that.
WIFE: God dammit, I shouldn't have to ask you!
YOU: I forgot.
WIFE: You need to be better about remembering these things.
Well, how on fucking Earth do I do that? I can promise to TRY and remember to do shit, but I'm not always gonna succeed. How the fuck am I suppose to just automatically become fucking Kreskin when it comes to menial jobs? I do my absolute best to remember shit, but I'll still forget crap all the time. And then I get pissed at myself for forgetting because I know it's gonna trigger a shitstorm. This annoys me, because I STILL DO THE TASK REGARDLESS. There are husbands out there who DON'T take out the trash, you know. They leave it there, and then they go fuck a club promoter. THEY DO! YOU LADIES ARE LUCKY YOU DIDN'T END UP WITH THAT PRICK! I don't do that. Not that I have the option, but still. I DO SHIT!
Anyway, my Mrs. now accepts the occasional brainfart. And I beg the rest of you ladyfolk out there to do the same. We men aren't perfect, but we're happy to pitch in whenever asked. But to remember every goddamn thing that needs to be done? Well, I'm sorry. But Kitana Baker and Lucy Pinder are oil wrestling up in my head right now, so that's just not gonna happen.