Dear Ann Abler,
Why is it okay for my
husband to pay a lawn service, but not okay for me to have a housekeeper? I am
busier than he is. I spend all day writing, teaching, raising two boys (12 and
4), completing grad school assignments, and talking to my mama on the phone.
Isn't that enough? Don't I deserve domestic relief?
It sounds like you're in a 'Dyer' Situation. Sorry. I channeled Fozzie Bear; I'll start over:
Ahem. Domestic
relief? You deserve a Nobel peace prize for not going ballistic and an Academy
Award for Best Supporting Everything.
How are you even able to compose a coherent sentence? Lay down or have a drink,
please, because you’re making me tired.
First
off, has it actually been established that it’s not “okay” for you to get a
housekeeper? Second, does your husband only live in the yard? Who determined
that a housekeeper is for you and lawn service is for him? Unless your house is
pink and the yard is blue, there is really no way sure-fire way to divide this
stuff up according to sex.
| Is this your house? |
Now,
you could be straightforward with your husband, and discuss your budget and
options over dinner. Or, you could do the next most sensible thing and ask,
“what would Lucy do?” Well, according to Season 2, Episode 4 (see how it’s sort
of like quoting Bible verses?), the best thing to do is switch places with your
husband for a week. You do his job. He does yours. Hilarity ensues. You might have
some ‘splaining to do, but everyone will learn a little something along the way.
Get ready for some zany antics, because those will happen as well.
| Who's got splaining to do now? |
If
for any reason that fool-proof plan fails, you can try doing what Ray did in
Everybody Loves Raymond, and just be really bad at housework until your spouse
insists on taking over (or getting you some help!).
| Poor Debra |
Isn't it nice how TV can solve all of our problems?
![]() |
| Zany! |
Now
say two Hail Mommies and pour yourself a margarita. Unless it’s before 5 pm. In
that case, make yourself a mimosa.
You’re
welcome,
Your
Ann Abler
