Matrimonial Spin Cycle: Our First CV-19 Fight
Marieta and I got into our first fight since CV-19 social distancing began. Guess who won?
Marieta is convinced I don’t do enough work around the house, but let’s just say I say myself for the heavy lifting — meaning the stuff I neglect which builds up and finally needs cleaning, or worse — fixing.
She asks what percentage of housework I do, and I answer “about 30 percent.” She snaps back, it’s more like “10 percent.” I decide I can live with the compromise number of 20 percent, call things even, and pop open another Negro Modelo to celebrate the house not burning down with a domestic spat.
So, just when I thought everything was okay, we saw a TV show and the guy said he didn’t know how to work the washing machine. I knew I was fucked. Marieta took the cue and insisted I don’t even know how to work a load of laundry and flip on the machine. I said, “I know how a washing machine works! Who doesn’t know that?”
“Prove it!”
Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite.
So, we stop the program and as I walk from the living room to the laundry area it feels like a shuffle to the gallows.
I get to the washing machine. I swear, I think I worked it one time. I think so. Hard to remember. C’mon memory! Kick in!
So, there are knobs and dials and buttons and settings and I think I might be able to wing this when she asks where the soap goes. Of course, I blow it and point to the fabric softener thing, and hell it all looks the same to me, I mean won’t the soap work there also? What difference does it make? The soap gets to the clothes. Works for me. This all begins with another sub-argument, and I’m reminded of the old saying about when you’re stuck in a hole to —– QUIT FUCKING DIGGING!
I surrender. It’s 10 percent. I’m so dumb I can’t work a washing machine. My next lesson — mastering the dishwasher.
This CV-19 shit can’t end fast enough.
Short, fun, good story