Man jobs and woman jobs

by Katie on April 9, 2009

I have a whole list of things around the house that I have labeled as “man jobs” and reserve for Brandon to do:
  • Spraying the weeds. Hey, I mow. He can handle the chemicals.
  • Spraying pesticide. He’s already used to dealing with the chemicals.
  • Killing scorpions, spiders, and any other things we don’t invite into our home. Aren’t men supposed to love killing things anyway?
  • Anything that involves climbing on the roof. We all know how clumsy I am.
  • Grilling. You probably know why that’s a good idea.
  • Making sure the yard gets irrigated. He wanted me to live in the desert. The only thing I asked for was a green yard.
  • Changing the air filter. This I am perfectly capable of. Frankly, I just don’t want to do it. Our filter is in the ceiling, so when you change it, all the dust falls down on top of you and gets you all dirty.
  • Changing light bulbs. For similar reasons. And he’s taller. 
  • You get the idea…
And Brandon has a similar list for me, which includes things like mowing, feeding the dogs and goat, and scrubbing the toilet.
A couple Sundays ago, we had a little man job versus woman job battle. 
He was sitting on our bed, talking on the phone, waiting for me to be ready for church. I looked on the wall, directly above my side of the bed, and saw a cricket. 
Since he was on the phone, I just made the various gestures and eye movements to point out the cricket. Ten minutes later, I’m ready for church, he’s off the phone, and the cricket is still on the wall. 
Brandon: “Are you kidding me? It’s still there? You just left it?”
Me: “Yes, I did. Killing things is a man job. Now can you kill it so we can go?”
So he grabs a shoe, kills the cricket, it falls and bounces on my side of the bed, then lands on the floor near the bed post. A dead cricket. And he leaves it there.
Me: “Seriously? You’re going to leave it there? You can’t pick it up?”
Brandon: “You said killing it was the man job. I say cleaning it up is the woman job.”
So I scoop it up, dispose of it, and we go to church. Smiling and holding hands…for God.  

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