I am a woman. My husband is a man. So far, so good. We are madly in love with each other. I can’t fall asleep without having at least my foot around his leg or my head on his shoulder. When I wake up in the morning his smell brightens my day. When I look at him I feel an overwhelming wave of tenderness. He makes me happy. He listens to me, rub my back when I am tired, support me when I get mad and he’s always there when I need him. He tells me he loves and he buys me flowers without having to cheat on me first. When we have some time together we always have something to tell to each other. We laugh at each other and each other’s jokes. Now stop puking.
So my life is paradise- or so I am told. My girlfriends envy me. My hubby is a great father, a fabulous lover, the best friend you can dream of. If I dare to disagree momentarily, women shrug their shoulders; he’s just a man, I should know better. Men start avoiding my eyes; they say I am clever enough to get everything sorted. So I am discovering that the war of the sexes still rages. Where is the problem? It is not the washing up undone, the socks across the room, the can of beer left on the chimney, the house chores that only get done by a female’s hand. It is not the fact that his work always seems to be more important than mine even though I may be this month / year the breadwinner of the family. It’s is not that, given the choice, I would happily sink in the sofa to read a book and let him do the thousand and ones little things that need to be done ( saw buttons, vacuum clean the house and the stairs, sort out the kids clothes, get rid of old paper junk, glue the pictures of the last 3 years in the family album….I could go on for ages). Instead you can find me doing all these things and more while he plays on his computer saying he’s taking a 15 minutes pause that usually last 2 hours and a half.
It is a no win situation; if I shut up, I have to do all the work. And the rest. If I talk, I am a pain in the ass. In both cases I ended up being unsatisfied. There is no egality in the bedroom.
Men I heard are quite proud of their passive resistance. They bragg that they couldn’t care less about the mess ( translation: I am above the unimportant), they joke that they are lazy, they just walk away and sulk. Women complain to each other in lengthy phone calls and long lunches and always end up the conversation by saying: oh well, that’s life.
But what life is it? Whose life?
I know the solution of course. I shall get a cleaning lady. Now who’s gonna pay for her you think?

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