I overheard a conversation between female co-workers the other day about how difficult it is to get a man to prepare dinner when they are working late. One reporter, Lania, said she had found a way to get dinner made in the crockpot since her husband didn’t seem able to put together slow cooker meals himself. She just prepared it and cooked it the night before and put it in the refrigerator the next morning before she left for work.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “He won!” I told her.
“How did he win?” she asked.
“You made dinner,” I chuckled. “He just has to heat it up now, he doesn’t have to fix it.”
Exacerbated, she shook her head, “But why is it so hard for him to just make the dinner himself?”
Because we want you to do it for us. Yes, it’s sad and not every guy is this way, but we don’t want to be bothered with the details. Put all these food items in a crockpot, set the temperature and leave it for the day —yes, it sounds easy and, admittedly, it is easy. But if we screw up dinner enough we won’t have to make it, someone else (a woman) will have to do it because she is going to want it done right.
It was like a light bulb went off. Two more female co-workers chimed in. “The same with chores around the house!”
Yep! Exactly. Tell us to do something and tell us HOW you want it done and it’s going to get screwed up every time until you do it. I know it sounds really bad, but it’s something in our hard-wiring. We can do it, if we want to and we’re allowed to do it the way we want it done, but our brain will lock up if there are too many instructions. If you complicate something as simple as making dinner, washing clothes or using a dust rag, we’re going to mess it up because we don’t like to be told HOW to do it. My big thing is how I treat my stuff. I don’t fold clothes neatly.
I wad T-shirts and underwear up and toss them in a drawer. I hang shirts inside-out on a hanger and stick them in my closet. If I have two socks that don’t match, but they’re close, and I can’t find the matches, I will roll them up together and toss them in a drawer — and no, not necessarily in the drawer deemed a sock drawer by the female of the household, but instead probably in with T-shirts and underwear.
I know I drive Anita crazy with all my disorganization. She has pretty much given up on the whole “this drawer is for socks, this one is for T-shirts” concept. I like my shoes right under the edge of the bed where I can get them on quickly, but having a dog who likes to chew them has forced me to put them in the closet. That one I’ve had to concede to her, since I’m pretty sure she trained the beast to take my shoes.
So I’ll apologize for those of us who are like this ladies. I’m sorry we’re difficult, but that’s how we roll. Just remember — the more simple you make it, the easier it can be for all of us.