Thursday, August 19, 2010
Beware, on guard, all ye married bachelors!
Since tying the knot close to two years ago, it is the first time that I have gone close to two weeks living by myself. My wife’s absence is due to my mother-in-law not being in good health; hence the duration of her absence is somewhat uncertain. These two weeks of being a “married bachelor” have proved to be a shocking eye-opener. I have discovered that the brief time spent riding on the matrimonial saddle has weakened and compromised my competency in executing household chores!
If the truth be told, the equation of the sharing of household chores between spouses has hardly ever been a balanced one. As much as we tend to stroke our male egos with the tag of modern man, not shy or scared to tie the apron strings and do some good old cooking and scrubbing, the truth is that we are fooling ourselves. For most, when we talk about cooking, we are referring to five minutes of whipping up an omelette, or tending to a juicy steak placed over the fire. We have it pretty much easy as soon as we reside with our better halves.
Over the past two weeks, the few times that the kitchen floor has been mopped, have been when I had to clear up something that I spilled onto the floor, then by default, widened the area of mop coverage.
So far the urge to indulge in takeaways has not gripped me, but I would not say that I have been whipping up the tasty dishes that I was known for before I said “I do.” It has mainly been instant meals, whose physical demands do not exceed the effort of opening a can or switching on the microwave or toaster. I have ensured that the number of utensils I use are as few as possible and these stay immersed in water, ready to be resurfaced, dried and sprung to use when the need arises.
O how the mighty indeed have fallen. Is this the same me, that stood tall and proud as the epitome of the independent man and could iron a long-sleeved shirt perfectly in a record five minutes? I will need to recall my ironing skills now that winter is fading away and I will not be able to get away with wearing a jacket or sweater over my creased shirt for the whole day. Some may say that this is nothing to complain about, that I am lucky to have someone who spoils me in the way that I have been. I disagree because I am convinced that it is a carefully plotted female strategy to make the male less self-sufficient and independent, thereby rendering him an object of their control, while naively believing that he still wears the pants in the house. To my male peers, my warning is Beware, Be on Guard, our manhood is under siege!