So, That's where we keep the Dixie cups.....

     It's one of those universal truths of  long term marriages, that each partner assumes the responsibility for different functions in the house.  Somehow, with no lists being made, or discussions to be had, each chore is split and everything that needs to get done, does, but sometimes, you might not have the implicit agreement in place that you think you do.

      I got a tour of a bathroom last week.  I've always wanted to go on the Canandaigua Tour of Homes, that will take you through 6-8 historical houses in the area and let you marvel at the architecture and furnishings, but that's not where my tour happened (Incidentally, when you see the next Tour advertised, let me know, I'd still like to attend), my tour happened in the downstairs bathroom of my own house.  "Honey", my wife said, interrupting my Saturday morning cartoons, "Do you know where we keep the Dixie cups?"   My spider sense was on high alert and judging from the body language of my wife, I wasn't really being asked a question here, "Um, in the bathroom?" I replied sheepishly and tried not to make direct eye contact.  "Really", she said, arms folded across her chest "Where?"   I answered with a combination of syllables that was meant to sound both like "cabinet" and "drawer" and I trailed it off getting softer and ending it in whispered mutterings.  "Nice Try", she said, "Come Here!".  Now, while I have just expressed my interest in driving 15 miles to tour other people's homes, I have to equally express my disinterest in touring my own that morning, but soon I found

I'd rather have toured this home.

myself standing with my wife in our cramped bathroom. "This", she said, neither muttering nor trailing off and whilst flinging open an overhead cabinet, "is where we keep them, and now that  you know that, maybe you could re-fill the container when you empty it (The punctuation is correct here, trust me, that was not a question at the end".  She stormed off, my tour abruptly ended, and I made a mental note to decline the offer from the historical folks if they ever called to add us to the tour list. 

     If you are thinking that was a lot of drama, having to show me where the Dixie cups were, I'd wholeheartedly agree, while at the same time admitting that in 25 years of marriage, I had never re-filled the container, not once.  Every wife in the world, who just read that, thought "Lazy" and every husband who read that, just thought "So?".  I wouldn't classify myself as lazy, I mean I work a lot, I volunteer at things, I work out regularly and help out irregularly, but I will admit an apathy to caring

Shhh, this is my secret way of drinking water...

whether the Dixie cup container is filled or not.  You see, I use them when they are there, but my dirty little secret is, that if they aren't, I just cup my hands under the faucet and drink my few ounces of water that way.  It's environmentally friendly (and not annoying like tubeless toilet paper rolls, what genius thought of those?), it's quick and effective, and I can hold more water in my hands than in our 3oz Dixies (Big hands ladies, wink wink).  I'd argue that it's probably less effort to do this, than to open the cupboard and the Dixie cup bag, and remove a stack, and put them in, and then replace the bag, and then close the cupboard.  I would argue that, but that would make me sound lazy, wouldn't it?  Yeah, probably.  This incident, and the fact that I wanted to write a blog on it, made me ponder if there were other things around the house that I took for granted that just appeared "refilled" without my effort, and amazingly there were.

      My cat's dry food fills itself.  I know it does, because I've never filled it and yet the bowl never empties.  I do take turns with my wife and son ripping open the wet food packets at dinnertime, but I've never done the other.  Sponges miraculously regenerate on our kitchen counter, toothbrushes

Does this pain in the ass, really save the planet?

replace themselves with some degree of regularity, bird-feeders fill up, candles get replaced, batteries get re-charged, and the laundry basket re-fills every other day with stacked laundry.  I actually know how the laundry gets done, and I related my discovery of this to some friends, while out a bar the other evening (Shout out to Val and Janine).  I had harbored silent resentment for years that my wife would wait until the very last hour of each night to start parading back and forth in front of my TV with her laundry.  From my view, I got exactly one hour of time each day, where I wasn't a parent, my kids would be in bed, and I'd settle in and watch whatever I wanted on TV, regardless of rating, and she would "choose" this time to start that chore.  It was kind of annoying.  Once, she had a chance to accompany my daughter on trip abroad for a week or so, and it was while she was away, that I discovered why she insisted on doing this to me.   Dinner was over, the dishes were done, the boys were washed and tucked into bed, and I grabbed a basket of clothes and headed for the living room to fold them, and I walked by the clock that read, 10:15.  The light bulb that went off above my head was probably visible to others, as it dawned on me that she didn't choose this time each night, it was the time that the chore fell, after doing all the others.  I never thought of this parade as being annoying, ever again. 

     I'll finish with the fact that this is a two-way street.  I'm not sure of all the things that I do that she is unaware of, but one jumps to mind immediately.  No matter how severe the threat of engine damage, my wife seems oblivious to the correlation between miles driven and the need to avoid

No way, does this guy refill the cups.

engine friction by regularly checking or replacing the oil in the car.  On countless occasions, I've given her a tour of the inside windshield of her van, and pointed out the nice little sticker that the oil change people put there, and then shown her the odometer which keeps track of the miles that she puts on that vehicle. She nods her head, seemingly getting the connection between the two, but inevitably it's me who discovers the 2,000 mile overage, the next time I get into the car.  Thinking that she might not know where to go to get this done, I've taken to pointing our these Quick Change places when we go through the surrounding towns, and I've even introduced her to our local garage mechanic down the street.  I'd better stop doing that though, I'm getting the sense that she's becoming annoyed.