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01:58
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Then last week, he sat me down at our kitchen table after I got home from work. He had this serious look on his face that I’d only seen a few times before, usually when he was about to announce another failed Venture, but what came out of his mouth made me question if I was living in some parallel universe.
“I think we should break up,” he said. “You don’t do enough around the house.”
I actually laughed. I thought he was joking, but when he didn’t crack a smile, I felt something inside me just shift. This man, who I’ve basically been mothering for 6 years, was accusing me of not contributing enough. When I asked him to clarify—because surely, surely he wasn’t serious—he doubled down.
“You never clean up after yourself, and I feel like I do all the emotional labor around here,” he said. “I’m always the one who has to point out when things need to be done.”
Let me paint you a picture. I work insane hours to keep us afloat while he’s at home brainstorming his next big move. Yes, sometimes I’m too tired to do the dishes right away or fold laundry immediately. Sometimes I leave my coffee mug on the counter or forget to put my shoes away. But you know what I do? Pay every single bill that keeps a roof over our heads and food in our fridge. Meanwhile, Finn’s biggest contribution to our household has been reorganizing the bookshelf by genre three times and throwing out my perfectly good Tupperware because it didn’t spark Joy anymore.
This is the same man who has a meltdown if the Wi-Fi goes out for more than 5 minutes. Guess who calls the provider every single time? Me. Every birthday, holiday, or weekend activity planned by me. He won’t even order takeout without asking for my input three times and then still managing to get my order wrong.
