The Messy Husband
This posting was originally going to be titled, "Top 10 Reasons It's GOOD to have a Messy Husband", but I had to squash that idea when all I could come up with were two good reasons. Hey - it's harder than it sounds. I got all kinds of input about how messy husbands drove their wives crazy, but it was a little harder, apparently, to think of anything good about them.
And I know that this title is sexist and perpetuates all kinds of gender stereotypes, but pooh on you. So girls, I'm socking it to you (us). OK, strap on your armor, leave your sensitivity behind and keep reading.
I am so with my fellow frustrated sisters with MESSY HUSBANDS. I know, I know, I'm making broad generalizations that we thought we left behind in the 1950s. Ha! In my circle of friends and acquaintances (which are a considerable number), I can only count two husbands who would get on their wives cases if the house was messy when they came home. They just didn't seem to have any idea of the havoc small children could wreak. Or big ones, for that matter. But those two gentlemen were West Point graduates who went on to become explosive experts. In their particular cases, I applaud their innate sense of neatness and attention to detail.
However...the other 99% of my sample of men (including my father) were incurably messy. My particular favorite (I happen to be married to him) could, in the process of merely entering a house, leave disorder in his wake like swells of water behind an ocean liner. A jacket laid over a couch, keys, change, wallet and sunglasses left on a counter, shoes mysteriously winding up in the middle of the floor, and glasses left on a table. It's like our long dead historical icons with plaques and statues all over the place, shouting out, "I was here!". You would never mistake whether or not the man was present. Signs were everywhere.
Newspapers are a particular bone of contention, as they are left spread across 7/8 of the kitchen table while the rest of us try to eat on the remaining horizontal surface not covered with newsprint. Or, I'd wake up in the morning to a living room floor carpeted in newspaper, since "someone" left them opened on the floor next to the couch the night before.
It was never a mystery as to who had last been in the bathroom. Towels on the floor, a dozen toiletries left out on the counter, the rug rumpled and the hamper lid open with socks trailing out onto the floor.
It used to drive me crazy, especially when we were first married. I'd trail behind him, straightening, picking up and putting away the chaos he left in his wake like a passing tornado. He'd walk past a basket of clean, folded laundry without it ever occuring to him to pick it up and return the clothes to the appropriate drawer. I'd bite my tongue anytime I went near the sink, which mysteriously filled with glasses whenever I wasn't looking.
From my many conversations with my girlfriends, and attending a university with a 10 to 1 male to female ratio, I was assured this trait was almost universal among the male of our species. Once, while my tactical officer was inspecting my room, he commented, "girls are neater than boys" after a fruitless 5 minute search for dust. To which my roommate answered, "we smell better, too."
Then, a few weeks ago, my husband went away on a business trip for a week. Midway through the second day, as I went through the house musing on the odds of getting my 20 month old down for a nap, it hit me. Our house was completely neat. No dishes in the sink, no laundry to do or put away, no beds to make. The dishwasher was empty, the carpets were clean, I'd mopped the floors that morning, and my oldest was quietly reading while my middle child was taking a nap. I almost didn't know what to do with myself.
Then I realized: some day (hopefully about 50 years from now, God willing), there would come a day where the house would always look like this. I wouldn't have to clean up after anybody else's mess anymore. Because nobody else would be there. I'd be alone.
Needless to say, my husband was welcomed home rather more enthusiastically than he anticipated. And the next day, when the newspaper was on the floor, a pair of boxers draped on the back of a chair, and his cell phone, keys, change, wallet, and sunglasses were decorating my kitchen counter, I just smiled.
And I know that this title is sexist and perpetuates all kinds of gender stereotypes, but pooh on you. So girls, I'm socking it to you (us). OK, strap on your armor, leave your sensitivity behind and keep reading.
I am so with my fellow frustrated sisters with MESSY HUSBANDS. I know, I know, I'm making broad generalizations that we thought we left behind in the 1950s. Ha! In my circle of friends and acquaintances (which are a considerable number), I can only count two husbands who would get on their wives cases if the house was messy when they came home. They just didn't seem to have any idea of the havoc small children could wreak. Or big ones, for that matter. But those two gentlemen were West Point graduates who went on to become explosive experts. In their particular cases, I applaud their innate sense of neatness and attention to detail.
However...the other 99% of my sample of men (including my father) were incurably messy. My particular favorite (I happen to be married to him) could, in the process of merely entering a house, leave disorder in his wake like swells of water behind an ocean liner. A jacket laid over a couch, keys, change, wallet and sunglasses left on a counter, shoes mysteriously winding up in the middle of the floor, and glasses left on a table. It's like our long dead historical icons with plaques and statues all over the place, shouting out, "I was here!". You would never mistake whether or not the man was present. Signs were everywhere.
Newspapers are a particular bone of contention, as they are left spread across 7/8 of the kitchen table while the rest of us try to eat on the remaining horizontal surface not covered with newsprint. Or, I'd wake up in the morning to a living room floor carpeted in newspaper, since "someone" left them opened on the floor next to the couch the night before.
It was never a mystery as to who had last been in the bathroom. Towels on the floor, a dozen toiletries left out on the counter, the rug rumpled and the hamper lid open with socks trailing out onto the floor.
It used to drive me crazy, especially when we were first married. I'd trail behind him, straightening, picking up and putting away the chaos he left in his wake like a passing tornado. He'd walk past a basket of clean, folded laundry without it ever occuring to him to pick it up and return the clothes to the appropriate drawer. I'd bite my tongue anytime I went near the sink, which mysteriously filled with glasses whenever I wasn't looking.
From my many conversations with my girlfriends, and attending a university with a 10 to 1 male to female ratio, I was assured this trait was almost universal among the male of our species. Once, while my tactical officer was inspecting my room, he commented, "girls are neater than boys" after a fruitless 5 minute search for dust. To which my roommate answered, "we smell better, too."
Then, a few weeks ago, my husband went away on a business trip for a week. Midway through the second day, as I went through the house musing on the odds of getting my 20 month old down for a nap, it hit me. Our house was completely neat. No dishes in the sink, no laundry to do or put away, no beds to make. The dishwasher was empty, the carpets were clean, I'd mopped the floors that morning, and my oldest was quietly reading while my middle child was taking a nap. I almost didn't know what to do with myself.
Then I realized: some day (hopefully about 50 years from now, God willing), there would come a day where the house would always look like this. I wouldn't have to clean up after anybody else's mess anymore. Because nobody else would be there. I'd be alone.
Needless to say, my husband was welcomed home rather more enthusiastically than he anticipated. And the next day, when the newspaper was on the floor, a pair of boxers draped on the back of a chair, and his cell phone, keys, change, wallet, and sunglasses were decorating my kitchen counter, I just smiled.
2 Reasons why it's good to have a messy husband
- He never notices if the house is a mess. Think about it. What if you take the day off and make mud pies in the backyard instead of doing your usual chores? A messy husband probably wouldn't even notice you'd skipped housekeeping that day. (The muddy footprints might tip him off, but I wouldn't count on it.)
- You are a queen when you find his stuff for him. So, the next time you hear, "honey, have you seen my _____ " look at it as an opportunity to stun the man with your magical powers.
posted by Kirsten at 1:38 AM
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