Mars and Venus, Indeed.

There are incalculable numbers of differences between men and women. Chief among them has got to be a man’s ability to do nothing, literally *nothing* productive, for hours or even days at a time.

I’m not sure if it’s because of how they were raised or if it’s something to do with having a penis, but the fact of the matter is boys are infinitely better at fucking off than girls.

Truth be told, it pisses me the fuck off. How in the hell do they manage it?

Take this weekend, for example.

J comes home from work about five. I’m watching something on TiVo. Something specifically for people with vaginas. Something I have looked forward to watching for a couple of days at least. After pointing out that he thought my show was “crap” he stripped off his shirt and jacked the remote from me.

“Let’s go to dinner and then I need to pick some stuff up to change the oil on the truck” he tells me.

Now, any time I can get out of cooking, I’m ALL FOR IT. I HATE to cook. I acquiesce and inquire where he wants to eat. He claims he doesn’t care, but I can tell he’s not listening to me, he’s watching highlights on CNN and ranting about politics. So while he is doing nothing, I am straightening the living room.

We go to dinner, hit up Wallyworld and head home. It’s now 9pm or so. He heads to the bedroom to check his email. I do the dishes.

He emerges in work clothes and I head out to “help” change the oil. (I say “help” because my job is to step n’ fetch things like sockets and towels and whatever.) Half hour of sweating through our clothes later, we’re back in the house. He watches TV, I comb the dogs.

Saturday morning, he’s up at 3am to go hunting. By 3:30 the dogs are up and running about, so I’m up too. I finish a novel and figure, “what the heck! I’m up!” so I vacuum the whole house, dust, shampoo the carpets and clean the bathrooms.

He’s back home by 10:30, eats some lunch and takes a nap. I throw in a load of throw rugs and nap myself for an hour.

Back up at lunch time, he’s on the couch, I’m mopping the kitchen. Then it’s grocery store time and after that I finally shower. J continues to perfect his impression of a log.

Clothes changed, I head to the gas station and the drug store then make him a quick dinner before heading to a friends house for dinner and an excellent night of hanging out. Back home at midnight, I’m asleep by one.

Sunday morning, I’m up at 9:30, I toss in a load of darks and clean out the fridge. Then, because I’m starving, I make WAM (waffles and ham, for those not in the know) and fold some laundry. More washing in and out, and I’m straightening the book shelves.

Then, I remember I need a belt for a dress I bought, so into the shower and off to the mall. Being a good wife, I stop at the boy store and pick him up some manly things and then some lunch before home again to take a quick nap and do some more laundry.

Dinner on the stove and served, dessert made and issued, kitchen cleaned back up, trash to the curb, laundry hung up or folded and I sit down to read a book for a bit and out with the lights by 10:30 once I’ve gotten caught up on the world’s events.

Up this morning and to work a half hour early while J sleeps in before working second shift.

Sign into email, get caught up and responded and Eric IM’s me to ask what I did over the weekend. You know what I said?

“Lazed around doing nothing”!!!

AM I FUCKING RETARDED?

What part of the above sounded like lazing around?

Now, having been an English Lit major in college, you think I would have at least a marginal grasp of the English language. AND YET. And yet, I think that enough manual labor to wear out a team of maids is LAZING ABOUT?

I clearly need help peeps. Serious help. Or at the very least a glass of whiskey.