Home Horrors: Husband Beware
I feel sorry for my husband.
Not because the first time he'll see me wearing glasses, with no makeup, it will probably be too late.
Not because I'm capable of getting lost in my own neighborhood, and anyone relying on my map reading skills is sure to get led astray.
Not even because I'm a secret blogger, and as one commenter put it "won't your husband mind you sharing personal details of your life". (More on the blogging when married topic another time).
No, all that he'll be aware of on dates. I began to feel sorry for my future husband, really and truly sympathetic, when I cleaned out the family refrigerator on Erev Shabbos.
I filled a garbage bag with rotting vegetables and decaying dairy products. I scooped out chunks of solidified pasta, prepared for dinners long gone, and piled high in the sink their former containers. I used up an entire roll of paper towel, scrubbing weeks of acquired gunk off the shelves. I wouldn't have done it, I would have left the sorry situation as is, and tried hard to ignore it, if not for the specific request (well, demand) of the mistress of the house.
Let's face it, I'm a lousy housewife. And it's genetic.
I can cook and bake. I can do laundry and fold and iron. I can wash floors.
I can do it all, but I don't. Other things always seem more interesting, or more important. Yes aesthetics are important, and certainly hygiene and nutrition are. But hey, I'm busy here, I have a career to take care of. I have books to read, blogs to write. People to call. What's a house in the scale of things?
I tell myself that when I'm married it will be different. I'll have my own home. I'll be doing it for my husband, who I'll love and want to make happy. I'll be doing it for my family. I'll be a perfect housewife. In moments of honesty though, when surrounded by piles of crumpled clothes, or mounds of moldy dishes, I doubt it. We don't change overnight.
I try to warn them. The boys I date. "You know, when it comes to cleaning and stuff, I'm not so great." They hear, they nod, they reassure. They don't care. They are looking for other things. The girl next door, the perfectly brought up domestic marvel, well, she's dull. I win hands down.
They don't realize they are sacrificing a life of creature comforts, if they marry me. They are giving up pristine countertops and fridges stocked with labeled Tupperware. Sacrificing ironed linen and home baked culinary creations. Entering a haphazard home universe fraught with mess and misadventure. For what? For me?
Yes, I feel sorry for him all right.
Not because the first time he'll see me wearing glasses, with no makeup, it will probably be too late.
Not because I'm capable of getting lost in my own neighborhood, and anyone relying on my map reading skills is sure to get led astray.
Not even because I'm a secret blogger, and as one commenter put it "won't your husband mind you sharing personal details of your life". (More on the blogging when married topic another time).
No, all that he'll be aware of on dates. I began to feel sorry for my future husband, really and truly sympathetic, when I cleaned out the family refrigerator on Erev Shabbos.
I filled a garbage bag with rotting vegetables and decaying dairy products. I scooped out chunks of solidified pasta, prepared for dinners long gone, and piled high in the sink their former containers. I used up an entire roll of paper towel, scrubbing weeks of acquired gunk off the shelves. I wouldn't have done it, I would have left the sorry situation as is, and tried hard to ignore it, if not for the specific request (well, demand) of the mistress of the house.
Let's face it, I'm a lousy housewife. And it's genetic.
I can cook and bake. I can do laundry and fold and iron. I can wash floors.
I can do it all, but I don't. Other things always seem more interesting, or more important. Yes aesthetics are important, and certainly hygiene and nutrition are. But hey, I'm busy here, I have a career to take care of. I have books to read, blogs to write. People to call. What's a house in the scale of things?
I tell myself that when I'm married it will be different. I'll have my own home. I'll be doing it for my husband, who I'll love and want to make happy. I'll be doing it for my family. I'll be a perfect housewife. In moments of honesty though, when surrounded by piles of crumpled clothes, or mounds of moldy dishes, I doubt it. We don't change overnight.
I try to warn them. The boys I date. "You know, when it comes to cleaning and stuff, I'm not so great." They hear, they nod, they reassure. They don't care. They are looking for other things. The girl next door, the perfectly brought up domestic marvel, well, she's dull. I win hands down.
They don't realize they are sacrificing a life of creature comforts, if they marry me. They are giving up pristine countertops and fridges stocked with labeled Tupperware. Sacrificing ironed linen and home baked culinary creations. Entering a haphazard home universe fraught with mess and misadventure. For what? For me?
Yes, I feel sorry for him all right.
I don't feel sorry for him. He's marrying an interesting, intelligent, funny woman. If he wants the fridge cleaned out, he can do it himself.
ReplyDeleteI was going to say same as Super Raizy. Maybe your husband will be the domestic one who likes to cook clean and everything else.
ReplyDeleteNah, a Chareidi man who's domestic? It's Bittul Torah! My salary will just have to pay for a household help.
ReplyDeleteI have never met a person who likes cleaning. Cooking, baking, decorating, organizing, sure. Love it. But cleaning the garbage can and shower curtain? Before I got married, I literally would just wait for them to get gross and then surreptitiously throw them out and buy new ones. You've got nothing to feel bad about. It's natural.
ReplyDeleteWhat type of career are you involved in?
ReplyDeleteI think you learn these things on the job.
ReplyDeleteI have a friend whose wife couldn't cook a lick before they got married. Now she's, lulei demistafina, a gormet chef.
I don't fell sorry for him, I feel sorry for you:( Your attitude is a chillul Hashem and you should have a higher standard for yourself. Such narishkeit...ugh!
ReplyDeleteYou have to portray yourself positive. Not highlight the negetive.
ReplyDeleteKosher Bride:
ReplyDeleteI've never cleaned a shower curtain in my life. I always just throw them out and buy new ones.
You are beutifull
ReplyDeleteSome men appreciate your type. I am sure you will make a great wife.
ReplyDeleteUm, you know you can be both, right? I'm an excellent housewife and cook, I work full-time, and I'm anything but boring. Sorry if I sound braggy, but it really pisses me off when people think that if you're a good homemaker, that automatically makes you less interesting or a loser, because if you had better things to do, then you wouldn't "waste time" doing household chores.
ReplyDeleteAriella, of course you can be both! In Israel we call them "Jedot"- superwomen who can do everything.
ReplyDeleteBut I'm not one of them.
Sounds like you need Molly Maids. :)
ReplyDeleteWow, you're in some kind of 1950's time warp! Get real, girl, in this day and age husbands help in the home, change diapers and have even been known to cook! A good marriage is a partnership where you will negotiate and compromise (otherwise known as fight and make-up) and work out which household chores you like to do, and which ones he agrees to do.
ReplyDeleteHe may absolutely love putting on the rubber gloves and attacking a stinky fridge, you never know.
But make you life a little easier for yourself, don't marry an obsessive neat-freak, cos you'll drive each other mad!
I actually like cleaning (in moderation of course). it's a break from my busy life. very cathartic.
ReplyDelete