I always assumed that housework was simple and that women only grumbled about it. However, I soon recognized I was the issue after my wife left me alone for a day to deal with everything on my own.
I fell onto the couch after dropping my keys on the table when I got home from work. I just wanted to unwind after such a busy day.
Warm and pleasant, the scent of cooking wafted from the kitchen. Lucy was stirring a saucepan at the stove. Danny was standing next to mom on a chair, peeling carrots with his tiny hands.
Lucy cast a sidelong glance. “Jack, can you set the table?”
I hardly took my eyes off my phone. “That’s your job.”
She took a while to answer. Her sigh, which I had heard a hundred times before, was one of exhaustion. Naturally, Danny didn’t appear to notice.
“I’ll do it, Mommy!” he exclaimed, leaping out of his seat.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” says Lucy, grinning.
I gave a headshake. “You’re gonna turn him into a girl, you know.”
Lucy tensed, but she did not look back. In contrast, Danny scowled at me. “What’s wrong with helping, Daddy?”
I remarked, “Boys don’t do housework, kid,” as I reclined on the sofa.
Danny gave Lucy a perplexed expression. She handed him the silverware and gave him a little slap on the back. Softly, “Go on, set the table,” she urged.
I observed Danny setting spoons and forks on the table with care. He appeared pleased with himself, as though he were accomplishing something significant.
I heard Lucy’s pals invite her to their annual conference the following day at work. It was a simple overnight excursion. She hesitated at first. Then she had a contemplative expression.
She mentioned it to me as I was watching TV that evening. “Hey, my work conference is this week,” she replied. “I’m leaving. I’ll return by tomorrow at noon.
I gave her a quick look. “Okay?”
“You’ll need to take care of Danny and the house while I’m gone.”
I gave an eye roll. “That’s easy.”
Lucy grinned, but not in the way she usually does. It was the kind that left me feeling as though something was missing. “Good,” she said. After she finished packing her luggage, I texted my boss to let him know I would be taking tomorrow off.
I rolled over in bed and squinted at the alarm clock the following morning, groaning. 7:45 a.m.
Hold on, 7:45?
I was so terrified that I rushed to my feet. Every time Lucy got Danny ready for school, she would wake me up. However, she wasn’t present. since she was gone. I had also slept in too late.
“Danny!” I yelled as I threw off the covers and staggered into the corridor. “Get up, we’re late!”
Rubbing his eyes, Danny shuffled out of his room. “Where’s Mommy?”
“She’s at work,” I whispered as I pulled out the drawers on his dresser. “Where are your clothes?”
“Mommy picks them.”
I gave a quick breath. She did, of course. I reached into the drawer and took out a pair of sweatpants and a rumpled T-shirt. “This is it. Put these on.
Danny scowled. “They don’t match.”
With a “It’s fine,” I tossed them to him. “Just hurry up.”
I hurried to prepare breakfast in the kitchen. I didn’t have time for that, but Lucy always had toast, pancakes, and eggs ready. I grabbed a juice box, stuffed two slices of bread into the toaster, and turned around in time to hear a loud snap behind me.
The toaster curled up with smoke. I hurried over and snatched out the black, charred, and extremely hard toast.
With wrinkles on his nose, Danny wandered in. “Ew.”
After saying, “Just eat a banana,” I tossed one onto his plate.
“But I wanted pancakes.”
I rubbed my face and moaned. We don’t have time for pancakes, Danny. We have to leave, so just eat what you can.”
Despite his sigh, Danny peeled the banana.
After shoving him into his shoes and grabbing his backpack, I threw him in the car and drove quickly to school.
I felt my tummy rumble on the way back. I decided that the quickest way to get something in me was to pull in at a drive-through hot dog stand. I grabbed a large bite while driving home, not paying attention, until my chest began to feel chilly and sticky.
I glanced down. My clothes was covered in bright red ketchup.
I muttered a curse and used napkins to dab at the spill while holding the wheel with one hand. Fantastic.
My annoyance only increased by the time I arrived home. I had to find out how to wash the clothing on my own because Lucy wasn’t there. How difficult could it be?
[Source: Pexels] A man filling the washing machine
[Source: Pexels] A man filling the washing machine
I approached the washing machine and gazed at the dials and buttons as if they were written in a foreign language. Permanent press, delicate, heavy load? What was the meaning of all that? I turned a knob, but it had no effect. I hit a button. Nothing has changed.
I struggled with it for a minute before giving up and throwing the shirt to the ground. Ignore it. I’m going to get another one.
I realized I had an early meeting the following day as I reached for a fresh clothing. My work shirts were always pressed by Lucy. I’d seen her do it before, so it wasn’t a huge problem. Simply smooth out the wrinkles by pressing down with the iron. Easy.
I spread my nicest shirt across the ironing board, plugged the iron in, and applied pressure.
Almost instantly, the air was infused with a pungent odor. I looked horrified at the enormous hole that had now burned through my shirt as I raised the iron.
With a grumble, I threw it in the garbage. Irons were invented by whom?
I made lunch as my stomach was starting to tell me that I hadn’t really eaten much morning. A straightforward dinner—chicken—nothing difficult. After taking a frozen pack out of the freezer, I placed it on a pan and increased the heat.
After ten minutes, the stove emitted dense smoke. I snatched the pan away, coughing, and looked down at the shriveled, blackened mess. I could hear the loud beep of the smoke alarm wailing in my ears. I finally silenced the detector by grabbing a towel and thrashing at it.
After losing, I was about to clean up at least one catastrophe when I discovered something. The buttons on the dishwasher were as puzzling as those on the washing machine, and it was piled high with soiled plates.
I hit one. Nothing.
I turned a dial. Nothing has changed.
I sighed deeply and combed through my hair after dropping the dish in the sink with a loud clank.
I was worn out.
This was meant to be simple.
Housework is the easiest thing in the world, according to my dad. When my mom was busy cleaning, Dad would sit on the couch and sip his beer. He’d say, “Not a man’s job,” and shake his head. “Women complain too much.”
I trusted him.
I wasn’t so sure now, though, since I was sitting in the midst of my own catastrophe.
I was worn out by the time I picked Danny up from school. My stomach rumbled, my head thumped, and I was losing patience. Danny hummed to himself as he got into the car, and I hardly even answered.
He abruptly stopped as soon as we entered the house. He looked around, and his eyes grew wide. The washing basket was overflowing, the sink was stacked high with dishes, and there was still a slight odor of burnt chicken.
Danny looked across at me. “Daddy… what happened?”
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed deeply. “I’m not sure, buddy. I made every effort, but nothing worked out.
Rather of giggling or griping, Danny nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Let’s tidy up.
I gazed at him. “Huh?”
He said, “Mommy and I do it together all the time,” in a casual manner. “I can show you.”
He went directly to the washing machine, grabbed my shirt that was stained with ketchup from the floor, and threw it in. Without hesitation, he twisted the knob, pressed the appropriate buttons, and began the cycle. I blinked.
“How did you—”
“Mom taught me.” He dismissed it with a shrug and continued.
Midjourney | A boy loading the dishwasher
Midjourney | A boy loading the dishwasher
He then started loading the soiled plates into the dishwasher after opening it and removing the racks. I had been trying to figure it out for thirty minutes, but Danny? He carried himself with the assurance of an expert.
Silently, I observed him cleaning the surface, throwing away the charred chicken, and setting a new dishtowel by the sink. My son was six years old and more capable than I was.
My chest began to constrict.
I questioned, “Why do you help so much?”
Danny smiled. “Because Mommy needs it.”
Nothing affected me more than those four words. Not only did Lucy want Danny to acquire life skills, but she also required his assistance because I never did.
I had spent years watching my mother grind herself to the bone while my father sat back. I didn’t question it. I assumed it was typical. But my perspective changed as I stood there and watched my kid take care of duties that I had obstinately neglected.
There had been no nagging from Lucy. She hadn’t overacted. She was as exhausted as my mother had been. And I hadn’t noticed it because I was blind.
I took a deep breath and surveyed the freshly cleaned kitchen. “Danny?”
He raised his head. “Yeah?”
“Thanks, buddy.”
Danny smiled, and I realized then that something had to be done.
Lucy and Danny were in the kitchen when I got home from work the following evening. While Danny mixed something in a bowl, she chopped vegetables.
Lucy looked up and grinned. “Hi. How did your day go?
I took a step forward while massaging my neck. “Better than yesterday.”
She grinned. “I’ll bet.”
We stood there for a while. She then raised a knife. “Want to help me make dinner?”
I would have chuckled a week ago. I would have dismissed her with a wave, gone to sit on the couch, and left everything to her. Now, however, I could see properly.
I took a step forward. “Yes. Yes, I do.
Lucy gave me a chopping board after raising her eyebrows a little. Clumsy but resolute, I took up a tomato and began chopping it. Lucy grinned and Danny giggled.
We weren’t only preparing supper. At last, we were collaborating.
Consider reading this story if you enjoyed this one: I thought my husband was having an affair. One thing was evident from the hushed talks, the stolen looks, and the way everyone fell silent as soon as I entered the room. But I was dumbfounded by what I discovered when I ultimately made the decision to catch him in the act.
Although this work has been fictionalized for artistic reasons, it is based on actual individuals and events. To preserve privacy and improve the story, names, characters, and specifics have been altered. Any likeness to real people—living or dead—or real events is entirely accidental and not the author’s intention.
The publisher and author disclaim all liability for any misunderstanding and offer no guarantees regarding the veracity of events or character portrayals. The opinions contained in this narrative are those of the characters and do not represent the author’s or publisher’s perspectives. It is presented “as is.”
