Clean the garage.
Man: Hangs up all the tools on the wall, puts cans on the shelf in size order.
Woman: Sweeps garage floor.
We are just the opposite. I’m organizing the space and my husband is grabbing the broom.
Car motor makes funny noise.
Women: “Oh well.” Turns up radio.
Man: Inspects car, looks under hood. Checks oil, adds oil, adds antifreeze.
Front door sticks when closing. Key hard to turn in lock.
Women: “Dang! That broke a nail!”
Men: Gets level, checks door, checks hinges, tightens screws, checks lock plate, tightens screws. Adds graphite powder to key hole.
I’M CRYIN’ HERE!
That’s EXACTLY right. ROFL!
I have a hilarious Charles Addams cartoon from the 1950s. It shows a couple of thugs in an upstairs apartment, having a life-or-death shootout with the cops below; one is firing a rifle, the other a machine gun. There are bullet casings all over the floor, and the only woman in the house, with a frown on her face, is busy sweeping up the casings. Volumes could not say more.
That works because by cooperating and doing different jobs the whole thing is then cleaned.
Not in our house. My mother didn’t dare touch the garage and the shed, which he liked to clean and rearrange every so often. He cooked on the weekends before he retired the second time and then all the time after that. He’d also vacuum and mop, but he didn’t clean bathrooms, dust or do laundry. That was my mom’s territory.
The outdoors was also his to do with as he pleased. My mom only dealt with her roses; he took care of everything else. Perhaps that comes from his mom passing away when he was 14 (3 years after he started working), or he would just get too bored if he wasn’t doing something.
There it is.