When my husband said cleaning bathrooms was my job as a woman, I crafted a plan. Using his prized gaming console, my friend’s cleaning skills, and a bold exit, I left him stunned and reshaped our partnership. Early on, I overlooked signs with David. Love made me forgive his quirks in our two years of marriage. David was charming—bringing me coffee, telling hilarious stories, and planning sweet surprises. Friends said I was lucky, and I agreed. As an event planner, I worked long hours, but David, an IT specialist, handled outdoor tasks like groceries and car care without fuss. Outside was his, but inside? All me.
I cleaned and cooked after work while David played video games. “You work hard,” I’d say, ignoring my fatigue. I thought I was being kind, not enabling. Then I got pregnant. Showing David the test, I beamed. “We’re parents!” His face glowed as he hugged me. “A baby?” he said, thrilled. David was great with kids, always playing with my cousin’s son. He attended every ultrasound, built the crib, and bought tiny hats, amazed by their size. He painted the nursery green and brought me smoothies during sickness. I believed we’d share parenthood equally.
Our daughter, Sophie, arrived after a long labor. David cried, touching her tiny fingers. “She’s perfect, Emma,” he whispered. He took leave, mastering diapers and soothing Sophie at night. We split chores, and I thought he’d changed. But back at work, he reverted. He’d play with Sophie, then game, saying, “Work’s rough.” I managed all chores and Sophie’s care, exhausted. “It’s temporary,” I thought. Then I got a bad cold, barely able to stand. “David, I’m sick,” I said, holding Sophie. “Can you clean the bathroom?”
He frowned. “That’s women’s work. Toilets are gross.” I blinked. “Seriously?” He nodded. “You do it better.” Angry, I called my friend, Claire, a cleaner. “Monday, please,” I said. “I’ll pay.” Claire, thankful for past favors, agreed. Monday, she made our house shine, especially the bathroom. I paid her generously, packed for Sophie and me, and waited. David got home, saying, “You cleaned!” I smiled. “Nope. Claire did. I sold your console for $800 to pay her, since cleaning’s my job.” He gasped. “You sold it?” I nodded. “Sophie and I are at Mom’s for two days. Do the laundry.” His stunned face was perfect.
Two days later, I returned to a clean house, folded laundry, and a humbled David. He apologized, promising to share chores. His entitlement faded, and I smiled, knowing my plan worked. Sometimes, a bold move teaches a husband what teamwork really means.
