My hubby, Jer, and I had an interesting conversation this morning. He was attempting to access the necessary’mental space’ to begin working and I was procrastinating emptying the dishwasher because I hate that particular chore. Jer and I have really mastered the art of postponement, a skillset we’re not all that certain we should be proud of but have embraced it nonetheless.
During our shared procrastination for the inevitable I began venting my frustration surrounding the dishwasher and all it entails.
“I swear, I hate unloading that stinkin’ dishwasher. Give me anything else and I’ll do it gladly. Seriously,” I complained.
“Yeah, I hate it too and it seems like you just unload it and turn right around to have to unload it again,” Jer added.
I looked up at him, narrowing my eyes. “Excuse me?” I asked.
“What?” Jer responded, clearly confused.
As was I.
“You say that as if you unload the dishwasher often,” I said.
“Well, I don’t do it all the time but I’d say I do it at least 25% of the time,” Jer explained.
Okay, this was the point at which I fell to the floor and had to pick myself back up again.
“Wait. I must have misunderstood. Did you just say you unload the dishwasher 25% of the time?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Yes. That’s right,” Jer answered with a nod.
“As in, 1 out of 4 times?” I asked again, for clarification.
“You got it,” Jer said.
Like hell. “You are a big, fat liar, Jeremy.”
“No.I do it all the time,” he demanded.
“Okay, well then. If you have all these mad dishwasher skills, why didn’t you empty this particular clean load last night? Oh, wait. I know why. You and your buddies had to kill some terrorists and mercenaries and stuff, right?”
“No. I mean, yes, I did play Xbox last night but that’s not why I didn’t empty the dishwasher,” he said.
“Ahhh…okay. Well, please do explain.”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to wake you up by clanging dishes all around the place,” Jer answered, clearly proud of himself for coming up with this specific answer.
“You’re telling me you didn’t unload the dishwasher last night and opted to play Modern Warfare instead to preserve my beauty sleep? You did it all for me?” I asked.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” Jer answered, a dawning recognition of his completely unbelievable answer slowly coloring his guilty face.
“Yep,” Jer said.
“Okay, Jer. Since you’re so overly concerned with the quality of my slumber I hereby grant you permission to empty the dishwasher whenever you are so inclined, regardless of the time of day…or night,” I said.
“Alright. Well, that’s good to know for…those nights…where I wasn’t sure…and decided to just play Modern Warfare-”
“And leaving the dishwasher for me to unload the next morning after a…restful…night of sleep,” I finished.
This man has created his own reality wherein he not only contributes to at least 25% of the daily chores but is also cognitively aware of and sensitive to my need for deep sleep.
Could this be a case of a skewed sense of reality in which Jer actually believeshe is this helpfulor is it more likelyhe’s justlying to cover his ownbutt? You be the judge.