The husband of one of my friend’s has told me that he does his own ironing, although he is rarely allowed to operate the washing machine as he’s inclined to put it on just to wash one favoured item. He counseled that, early on in married life, his wife threatened to withhold sexual favours unless he did his fair share of housework. I never played that card. Firstly, it strikes me as one of those cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face type situations and, secondly, I never, ever make empty threats.
When we got married, I was still at university, while my husband was holding down his first job. I can still recall my horror, during our first month of wedded bliss, on discovering my husband had cleaned his rugby boots at the kitchen sink, spraying my new, white net curtains, white kitchen tiles and, indeed most of the kitchen, with mud! He never had to clean them again which was possibly the whole point of the exercise.
Thereafter, in recognition of his total lack of domestic prowess, he has limited himself to opening the odd bottle of wine or beer and making the occasional cup of tea or coffee. However, when we have guests, particularly members of my family, he will clear the table and generally try to convey an impression of domesticity. But my family are not fooled for a moment, they don’t call him the “man who just turns up” for nothing!