Clean the Halls

I was short an apron and a hairnet, but after handing in the extensive term paper than has kept me from blogging the past week, I decided the old creaky apartment I call home needed my best Martha Stewart this afternoon.

After cleaning the shower stall, wiping the toilet and scrubbing the bathroom floor, I turned my attention to the dishes in the sink before finishing with clean sheets on my bed. I did all this why Audrey was off at work, and I jokingly passed along an acknowledgement of our role reversal.

I finished my audition for June Cleaver by putting together a casserole of stir fried potatoes, sauteed ground beef and vegetables, macaroni and cheese which I topped off with mashed potatoes and gravy. Audrey came in the door from work, and her dinner came out of the oven. I had misplaced the pearls and high heels, but I still had a hug and a kiss for her before she slumped into a chair with a deep sigh. We ate dinner on the freshly laundered table cloth and chatted about the day, but I couldn’t help but chuckle about mine.

I lack the male gene that carries the “I can tolerate my own filth” trait, or maybe my mother just taught me well. I also love to cook and hope to teach middle school next year. And I recently read during my daily blog roll that MacBooks are preferred by guys that are a little light in the loafers, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m not worried about my sexual preference, but Audrey is in a high paying field, and my career track does not appear to be taking me in that direction. She has asked me before if it’ll bother me if she brings home the bacon while I collect the feet, and I have always responded that my ego is secure.

Today got me thinking more about it, though. Stay-at-home moms are a thing of the past, ever more so in this time of economic turmoil. Audrey has a co-worker who is on the verge of divorce, with the problem being that she has recently gone back to work and is “never home,” a new problem in the relationship that has been sputtering for years. Apparently, the guy can’t make up his mind, and used to groan when she spent her days with the kids while he sweated out for all the income. So, what’s the problem with having the dual income? And I hate scrubbing the toilets, but isn’t it nice to have a happy wife and a fat bank account?

A serious relationship teaches the valuable lesson of humility, a quality not often found on college campuses. Humility is more than breaking a stereotype and wringing a mop, though. It is understanding the needs of others and putting them before your own without expecting it in return. I am given the opportunity to reach out and help people countless times a day, and I often fail, due to my first ever economic lesson: “People respond to incentives.” If you cannot expect anything in return for your action, what is your incentive for doing it? But that is the beauty of a humble act; it is for the other person, and hopefully, your incentive is the happiness derived from doing the good deed.
So, gentleman, if your wife one day gets a raise that puts her in a higher tax bracket than you, think not of the shame you will endure from your beer buddies, but rather the excitement and joy she must feel. No man is an island, to borrow and old cliche, so work to find joy in others, so that they might find joy in you.