Dear Husband…..There’s Something I Need you to Know!
1
You know the other day when you said “I’ll hoover the house”?
Well, when you offered such help, my heart skipped a beat, the tension brought on by yet another chore playing on my mind started to melt away, my mind was planning how I could spend this precious time that had been freed up by your one simple act, I felt a tingling in my *cough* lady bits and I saw you, in that moment, as the man I had fallen in love with.
In that moment in time, with those few words my world felt complete. I had the husband who ‘gets it’, one who understood
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the pressures on us women who are excepted to do it all, the expectation for us to run a clean home, to feed everyone a healthy diet and to only drink wine on social occasions (pah, step way too far my friend).
Yep! You my darling man get it and in turn, in that very moment I thought that due to your heroic hoovering that that night, you might just get it in return!
And then you said…….
“but I didn’t do the top floor”
And in that moment, hearing that one little add on, your seemingly innocent admission, I fucking hated you.
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3
The tension that had started to melt away had found a new strength that is now weighted once again heavily on my already buckled shoulders. The lady area slammed the brakes on, and it became very clear that you may never get anything from that area again. Ever. I started mentally planning my escape route, leaving you and your unhoovered top floor to fester, the perfect environment for a rat like you.
It’s an option, I could leave you, I could get a female divorce lawyer, she’ll see the shitty thing you’ve done and together, women united,
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we’ll take you to the cleaners (ironically?!)
Or I could enlighten you on how this half arsed, lamo attempt of ‘helping me out’ leaves me feeling.
It’s like I’ve offered you a blowy and then only given you a limp wristed, over the trouser fumble whilst always keeping one eye on Eastenders! This. It feels like this.
So my darling man, please don’t offer up such generosities unless you’re gonna finish the fucking job!
*Off to hoover the bastard top floor
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Lauren Derrett - 14 Jun 16
You know the other day when you said “I’ll hoover the house”?
Well, when you offered such help, my heart skipped a beat, the tension brought on by yet another chore playing on my mind started to melt away, my mind was planning how I could spend this precious time that had been freed up by your one simple act, I felt a tingling in my *cough* lady bits and I saw you, in that moment, as the man I had fallen in love with.
In that moment in time, with those few words my world felt complete. I had the husband who ‘gets it’, one who understood the pressures on us women who are excepted to do it all, the expectation for us to run a clean home, to feed everyone a healthy diet and to only drink wine on social occasions (pah, step way too far my friend).
Yep! You my darling man get it and in turn, in that very moment I thought that due to your heroic hoovering that that night, you might just get it in return!
And then you said…….
“but I didn’t do the top floor”
And in that moment, hearing that one little add on, your seemingly innocent admission, I fucking hated you. The tension that had started to melt away had found a new strength that is now weighted once again heavily on my already buckled shoulders. The lady area slammed the brakes on, and it became very clear that you may never get anything from that area again. Ever. I started mentally planning my escape route, leaving you and your unhoovered top floor to fester, the perfect environment for a rat like you.
It’s an option, I could leave you, I could get a female divorce lawyer, she’ll see the shitty thing you’ve done and together, women united, we’ll take you to the cleaners (ironically?!)
Or I could enlighten you on how this half arsed, lamo attempt of ‘helping me out’ leaves me feeling.
It’s like I’ve offered you a blowy and then only given you a limp wristed, over the trouser fumble whilst always keeping one eye on Eastenders! This. It feels like this.
So my darling man, please don’t offer up such generosities unless you’re gonna finish the fucking job!
*Off to hoover the bastard top floor
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I'm Lauren, Founder of Wear 'em Out, reusable period pads for the empowered eco-curious. Mother of 4, Step-Mother of 2, I've been parenting for 24 years so have seen and learned a lot of stuff
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