My Boyfriend is filthy.
He hasn’t built a cave out of his own faeces yet, but if the occasion arises I’m getting to the point that I would be proud rather than disappointed. I mean a poo-cave would take energy, ingenuity and a dedicated approach.
None of these attributes are currently displayed in his approach to house work. In fact even calling it “an approach to housework” seems to be a little presumptuous.
I don’t think I’m high maintenance, but I’m willing to acknowledge that it is possible…perhaps my knickers are in a twist.
I understand that my standards aren’t his, and that my chosen life style (featuring an absence of cockroaches, mice and being able to walk with stepping on food) may not be his ideal living situation.
And that his cleaning suggestions, which have included bringing the hose through the window to clean the bathroom, are not always …. Shit.
However, no matter how I relax my cleaning roster (excluding washing the sheets- this is non-negotiable- which shall always happen on Thursdays… and sometimes Wednesdays if I’ve had a slow week…) my darling and I, we just can’t seem to find a balance.
I’ve yelled, I’ve pleaded, I’ve rationalised.
I’ve stooped to offering sexual favours… he was unpersuaded (Why would I do that I’m a satisfied man…).
I’ve revoked sexual favours! (His response? He laughed... you’ll break before I do). Damn it he knows me too well.
So what does a girl do? I love my ape, but how does one train them?
This week something happened. I politely told him that it was “crap” that he hadn’t cleaned all week when I’d been ill and working and on teaching practicum. I said it. Just plain like that.
“the least you could do is the washing up”
There was the ticket… The least.
I didn’t whinge or bully or yell, and it certainly wasn’t rationalizing.. I mean he’d actually completed the least he could’ve done quite successfully, that is SFA.
But no… the washing up was done. I had a little extra time for uni work, what a god send. I’m not sure how this new system will prevail but my goodness it’s nice to have a tool in my frustrated time-stretched belt. It’s nice to know I have just a little bit of leverage.
I made a point of not saying thank you. I want “the least” to become a standard, an expectation. At least until he masters the art of building a poo cave, then I’ll know the possibilities are endless.