I swear I'm a feminist, but before I agreed to marry my husband I did tell him that there were certain chores that I would expect him to do. Those chores included taking out the garbage, mowing the lawn, and filling the car with gas. I guess the fact is that I don't like to get my pretty little hands dirty.
For the most part, this arrangement works out pretty well, but every once in a while, like yesterday, he has no time to refill the car with gas, so I do it. Other times, like right now, three or more weeks go by before he gets our lawn mowed. For about a week now, I've been contemplating getting the mower out myself. Every time I go out to water the garden I'm almost positive that their's some huge cat lurking out in the tall grass waiting to pounce on my herbivore self.
Today was the last straw though. Our dog ran outside and I kid you not started leaping and galloping like a gazelle. I bush wacked my way back into the house, got out my nifty Kelti backpack to put babyjama in, put on tennis shoes, stripped babyjama down to diaper and wide-brimmed hat. I got about a third of the way through the yard when our grandmotherly neighbor came over and offered to watch babyjama while I mowed.
Great! I thought...now I'll really be able to get this done!. About ten yards later, the mower got clogged or something. All I knew is that I couldn't get it to start back up. Sheesh, I feel like such a girl. I finally get out there to do the boy chore that I so dread, and can't get the mower to work. Guess what papajama will be doing tonight...
I have to take out the trash because it overflows waiting for him to do it, and I am home here all day looking at it!
But I don't do his laundry; I have to do mine and four kids, so he is on his own.