Okay, I’m just going to say it: I feel like there’s a secret husband WhatsApp group where they chat about ways to be more, you know, “husbandy” aka helpless-without-their-wives-on-purpose. Because, honestly you guys, it feels as if my Hubstopher is even more dependant on me, with each passing year. It’s a conspiracy I tell ya!
Now I know what you’re thinking… probably something along the lines of: “Geez Luchae, that’s quite an opening, is alles oright by die huis?”
And the answer is no. Alles is nie oright nie. (Humour my dramatics and applaude my use of a whole Afrikaans sentence and correctly nogal)
Alles is nie oright nie, because my husband is helpless without me, but like, not for real. He does it ON PURPOSE, you guys. He pretends to be helpless without me. And it’s not funny.
Okay let’s start at the beginning…
So the other night I watched my husband rifle through the kitchen cupboard frantically. He was looking for the peanut butter and couldn’t find it. Well, that’s what he says. I mean, the jar was literally right infront of him. But there he stands, dramatically searching (with sound effects and running commentary) semi-dying of hunger and unable to locate the mysteriously invisible jar. He needed a hero. The hero was me. Would he have found the peanut butter had I not pointed it out to him? Probably not.
My darling Hubstopher is also unable to figure out where I keep the towels (I mean, seriously) even though they’ve been in the same place since, like, forever. Oh and he happens to only realise that he needs the towel when he’s in the middle of, well, needing the towel. I guess forward-thinking is a wife thing. What would happen to him when I’m not around? I shudder to think about it!
If you think that’s catastrophic, you don’t know the half of it! I mean, the rummage for clean undies or to find that missing sock is such a mammoth task, people! One would think that dear ol’ Hubstopher could simply search through the clean washing to find it. But nay, not this one. He was born without that skill set. He needs me. (To be fair, I AM an excellent things-finder. Just ask my kids.) Without me, the guy would probably end up wearing only one sock, or, gasp, the same undies for the rest of his life!
According to him, it’s not his fault… I’m the only one who can do certain things, uhm, “properly.” I guess God must have given me a double dollop when gifting me with the ability to:
– Complete paper work (especially when it’s school related)
– Manage our diary successfully
– Remember important dates/events
– Decide on what to wear to the costume party
– Dress our kids in appropriate attire for the day
– Answer the loaded question of “what’s for supper?”
– Change baby’s nappy if he made a BIG poop
Mind you, my husband is the cleverest man I know. And that’s why I’m convinced that he is ‘purposefully helpless’. Hey, that sounds like a Beyonce song.
Anyways, rant over. I do love the bugger. And I get that his damsel-in-distress vibes is simply because he loves to be looked after by me (just like how I love to be showered with gifts, by him). If I must be honest, these are the quirks and perks of being his wife… he doesn’t expect me to be a genius in the kitchen, a Pinterest wife, skinny top model or a Martha Stewart of the home. All he needs is for me to pass him the towel and find his missing sock.
And yeah, I complain, but it (secretly) feels good to be needed by him.
So I guess this little confession session is simply for me to say: I see you babe. And don’t worry, I’ll probably help you find the peanut butter until you’re too old and wrinkly to actually be able to eat peanut butter.
Disclaimer: In this post I generalise a hellava lot. So if the – uh – “husband shoe” doesn’t fit, don’t wear it. Or something like that.