Take This Job And Shove It

One of the biggest fights my husband and I have is the misconception that I don’t work. More times than I can count, J-Fed has pointed this out. When I complain that I’m tired around 6 p.m., he replies, “but you sit at a desk all day.” If you’re sitting at a desk, you’re not working. That’s right J-Fed – they pay me all this money to sit.

Anyways, that’s his mindset. If you ain’t moving, you ain’t working.

Now, I’ll give J-Fed credit. Out of the two of us, he does do the dirty work. Climbing in and out of boat hauls all day in extreme heat is physically taxing. I’m sure the process is grueling. He’s constantly pointing out that I wouldn’t be able to do what he does for even 10 minutes. And he’s right. I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to. Manual labor is not my thing. But just because I don’t break a sweat doesn’t make my job any less demanding.

Yet he just can’t grasp the concept that white collar work is just as tiresome as doing physical work. I’d like to see J-Fed spend all day at a desk doing something other than watching car crashes on YouTube for 10 hours. That would be the day. After all, J-Fed’s idea of deskwork is searching the surrounding area for racetracks. To him, that’s a hard day’s work when it comes to sitting at a desk.

But it isn’t just his perception of my professional job that irks me; it’s the way he views my role in our household that particularly sets me off.

Far too many times, I’ve moaned to J-Fed about my workload at home, in addition to my 9 to 5 job. I cook the meals, clean the house, pay the bills, care for the children, do the laundry, etc. It isn’t uncommon for me to wander aimlessly around the house between the hours of 6 p.m. and 8 p.m. randomly picking up clothes and shoes, sweeping, mopping and participating in other housekeeping duties. I suppose if you slapped a straightjacket on me, I’d closely resemble a patient at a state mental hospital, which is quite fitting since I often feel I’ve lost my mind.

When I remind J-Fed of the many chores I’m responsible for as he sits in the garage smoking a cigarette and drinking a frap, he simply replies…

“But that’s your job.”

“No, JJ. My job is Director of Content & Editorial for company XYZ. That is my job,” I say curtly as steam comes out of my ears.

“No, as a wife those are your responsibilities,” he explains to me. “That’s what wives do.”

If that is what a “wife”slave does, then what exactly does a husband do, I wondered.

Regardless, I begged to differ. I don’t feel it is my duty to do EVERYTHING while he does NOTHING. Perhaps J-Fed is still living in the dark ages where women simply plodded along doing as they were told with no rights. While that might have been his reality, it was hardly mine. I refused to be treated like an indentured servant. There was no caste system in this house, and J-Fed was no king.

Maybe the next time around, J-Fed should interview wife candidates prior to tying the knot and provide them with a job description so they know what they’re getting into. For me, it’s far too late. When it comes to my job as “wife”, the work is hard and the pay is cheap.