In retrospect, I should have seen this coming. All the signs were there – little things at first, but slowly gaining momentum. My slippers, not at the door when I came home. Having to pointedly rattle the ice cubes in my empty scotch glass several times before he brought me a refill. Take-out for dinner – take-out! I don’t slave away at the office from 9 to 5 just to be served greasy slop from a cardboard box!
Last week I had to give him a stern talking to. Not only was there a layer of dust coating the living room – a clear indicator he hadn’t been doing the housework properly; probably watching his stories and eating bon bons all day instead – but the instant I walked in the door, he started complaining about some trivial matter – needing a new vacuum cleaner or mop or something. What happened to making me comfortable? Where’s my filled pipe and cool drink; my fluffed pillows and offer to remove my shoes? I’m pretty sure it’s a written rule that you don’t greet your wife with problems or complaints the instant she walks in the door. Does he have any idea what I’ve gone through that day? I’ve been with a lot of work-weary people! My boring day needs a lift! Isn’t he supposed to be a little more gay and interesting, with a ribbon in his hair and fresh makeup?
Two nights ago he tried to steer me into a conversation about the changes happening down in Washington. “Men’s Liberation”, they call it – some baloney about equal rights for men. I snorted at the idea and went back to my newspaper. Can you imagine it? Men thinking they’re as good as women! Everyone knows men are the weaker sex; they’re just not cut out for the workforce. Men belong in the home and in the kitchen, and no new-fangled “men’s lib” will see MY husband marching the streets like a common harlot.
Well, I thought that I had made myself clear on the matter. Just because his little friends are all in a tizzy at the thought of a life outside the home doesn’t mean I approve or give my consent! He did the unthinkable – he went out and got a job. My husband, working! He says it’s his right as a proud warrior man! I ordered him to forget about this nonsense and do the laundry, but he just took off his apron, grabbed his handbag, and marched out the door. I don’t know what’s come over him, but we’ll see how he likes it when I withhold his weekly allowance. He won’t get far without money for pretty ties and face powder, and he’ll be back in the kitchen preparing delicious meals planned in advance.
This whole thing is just ridiculous. What’s next? Men having babies? Driving cars? Nellie McClung was right – nice men don’t want the vote.
.. for the first time in our relationship, Ed makes more money than me. My fragile womanly ego is having a hard time dealing with this. It’s just .. wrong.
I think I’ll go bug HR about my overdue raise.
5 thoughts on “men’s sufferage my ass”
Ed just needs to get his butt in the kitchen and bake you a pie!
In other news I have read that book cover to cover and passed it around to all of my friends. Thanks again for sending it to me. Now I know my place as the “little woman” haha. Frickin hilarious!
Suck it, Trebek. Suck it long, and suck it hard.
Pfft. I do most of the housework, still plan most of the meals and STILL make more than the wife does. It’s okay, I know she doesn’t read this crap. Too busy plating Scrabopulous on FB or whatever it’s called.
One day, one day soon she will be making more than me, and that’s the day I let her know that I am retiring to be… a stay at home Dad.
Then she’ll be sorry. But her camisoles will be nicely pleated!!
There’s only two things a man should see: the kitchen floor and the bedroom ceiling.
That’s how it was in Alberta.
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