"But Honey, that's a man's job," I informed my husband on the phone today. Perhaps a hint of a whine tinged my voice.
"Well, Honey," he admonished me, "when I'm at work, you're the man of the house."
WHAT? I thought in my best Princess of the Palace shocked state.
"WHAT?!" I squeaked, as I contemplated the task I now had to perform.
OK, here's the deal. There are certain things I just don't do. Like the incredulous telephone calls to the window company who - just a few years ago - told us the windows have a lifetime warranty. When I called to schedule a maintenance visit (see? I made that phone call!) and the lady informed me there would be a $xx 'trip fee' --- but "parts and labor are free" --- well, I figured I'd run that one past the financial authority of the house. And when he said, "No way am I paying them to get in their truck and drive down here!" Well, to that I said, "Here's the phone. You call 'em back."
I also don't do ticks (see previous post on Camping with the Ticks) or ... well, other things.
So today, as I'm filling up the pond in the back and I smell a faint odor (OK, not so faint) and I think, Hmmm. Glad no one's over playing in the backyard today. Only to discover the origin of the smell just a few minutes later when I turn off the hose. Well, I call The Man and I inform him he has something to fish out of the pond when he gets home and it ain't no fish. To which, he says I should get right on that. And that's when I say:
"But Honey, that's a man's job."
I tried to plead 'The Chick' defense. It was a no go.
Hmmm. I guess he told me. And man was that job gross.
