Crossing the threshold to go towards my car, my feet sank in the snow. Deep enough to wet my clothes.
And while I struggled with my tresses and with my shovel to dig the snow, I wonder if I am digging my own grave. My man is not doing the shoveling, I am. No man is doing it, I was. Was I supposed to do it or not?
Agreed. I have been given 2 hands and 2 legs by the almighty above. But wasn’t that a man’s job?
See right there, I transformed from a feminist to a sexist.
All my education and all my broad mindedness went down the drain when I grumbled my way to insanity. I went dark in silence as my body ached. As his lethargy increased, so did my tongue lashes.
Was it a man’s job?
It was our job. Not his, not mine, but ours. Maybe 51% his and 49% mine. Maybe 49% his and 51% mine, but ours nonetheless. Just like the dishes. Just like Angel and her potty gathering expeditions in the dark. Just like the cleaning of the house and cleaning of the path walk. I guess we would work better in a team.
Now that I have that figured out, I have to start learning how to “drill this notion in his head” exercises. I will lose my tongue and his ears in the process.
Worth giving a try?
PS: I guess its a who is lazy and who is lazier thing! S did bite my head off while I chewed away his ears to glory…
PPS: The results are negative. S does not believe in teams.
Post PPS: S and I both came to an informed decision. Angel needs to start helping. She needs to clean her own shed hair, keep her tongue in to stop the drool and should start doing her pee & poo herself. We ain’t accompanying! Its high time she joins a part time job, she is 18 in dog years and so is now ready to move out. Fingers crossed!