I was messing around on Twitter with my feet up after dinner today, when my husband sat down next to me.
"Trying to interact with people on social media so I can build my brand."
I'd just read an article saying I should do this, but I haven't figured out how I want to go about actually doing it. Social media is not my thing. I have a personal Facebook account that I haven't used in years. I'm not on LinkedIn. I've never looked at Pinterest. I really have no desire to share where I am, or what I'm doing, with everyone I know. I spend a decent amount of time on Fet but I don't actually post anything- I'm just there to read the articles, I swear!
In sum, I'm fumbling my way through all this stuff, trying to decide what I want to say and when. And I was staring at the computer pensing on how to proceed when my husband plopped down at my side.
"My shorts have a hole in them."
I slid my eyes away from my laptop, where I wasn't actually doing anything except staring blankly at the screen, and looked at him.
"Those lasted all of a month," I noted. "Perhaps if you hadn't worn them every day since I bought them they would last longer."
I was kidding, but just barely. My husband is ridiculously rough on clothes, especially jeans and shorts. If I find him a pair he likes they will invariably have a hole by the end of the season. But does that stop him from wearing them?
No Sir. No rip, hole or bald spot will prevent my husband from wearing a garment if he really loves it. He has this leather jacket that I bought years and years ago that he refuses to get rid of. It has a giant hole in the arm that he's sealed closed with duct tape. The leather is so worn and gross it's turned green in spots. And it stinks from years spent hanging in a kitchen (he's a chef). I've begged him for years to throw it out. I've bought new black leather jackets. I've refused to be seen in public with him if he's wearing it. All to no avail. He ignores my protests about the stench and general nastiness of the jacket and continues to wear it. Year, after year, after year. All this to say that having a rip in his new shorts really isn't that big of a shocker.
"It wouldn't be hard for you to sew," he says.
"For me to sew?" I repeated.
"Yes," he responds, waits a beat, then amends, "No, for me to sew."
Yeah, that's right. I don't sew. But he does.
I also don't iron. I tend to burn myself every time I pick one up.
I'd just read a blog post by Renee Rose (right after I read the one about marketing for authors) discussing the housewife fetish, and his comment about me sewing made me laugh.
I'm definitely not a housewife. In fact he does most of the cleaning around the house. Though I do most of the cooking, which many people find odd because he's a chef, but why should he have to cook every day at home too!
Overall we tend to split things pretty equally based on who's home at the time. Definitely not what you'd call a 'traditional' marriage based on 'traditional' gender roles.
But having me on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor while he watched? That would definitely turn him on.
For my part, the idea of having him come home, discover that I haven't completed all my chores for the day, then proceed to soundly spank my bottom for my transgressions? Yep. Makes me all warm and fuzzy.
Do we actually want to have a traditional 1950's house? No. It wouldn't work for our lifestyle or our personalities. We're more equal opportunity kinksters, trying out new things, finding what we like and don't like, and building our own personal bag of tricks. But I agree with Renee that we could definitely add a little housewife roleplay to our repetoire!