Domesticity Redefined

Well, it's official. I'm going to hell.

It's not like I wasn't headed in that direction before what with my divorce, birth control and frequent use of, "JESUS H. CHRIST! Why did you put that up your nose?"

But now, I've sealed my fate. Dallas has moved in. We're shacking up, sharing space, cohabiting, co-mingling, playing house, LIVING IN SIN...According to my brief religious upbringing, I can expect to frolic with the other sinners for all eternity. At the very least, I can assume that I'll be spending gobs of time in purgatory.

No matter, though, because everyone that I know and love is likely to be there with me.

We're in that lovely early stage when things like upright toilet seats and make-up on the hand towels don't cause a ripple. This morning, I got out of the shower to find the dishwasher emptied, a load of laundry in, my morning protein shake made and my second cup of coffee waiting for me on the bathroom vanity. I had to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn't dreaming because my past experiences living with a man were vastly different.

Husband number one was a diva and wouldn't contribute to the household chores because he was asthmatic and someone ought to have given him a purple, rhinestone encrusted star for being able to use meditation to successfully control his symptoms. Vacuum? Are you kidding? He may have had to use an inhaler and that would most certainly have caused the earth to come off its axis.

Husband number two was unfortunately, more caveman old fashioned in his view of housework. He felt that as long as he held a job, paid his taxes and loved his mother, he should be exempt from any other tasks. It didn't matter that both of us had full time demanding careers. I had the uterus and therefore, all things domestic were considered my responsibility.

So along comes this sweet, highly evolved man who believes in the equitable division of labour in all things domestic. He grocery shops, he puts the trash out, he cooks and he cleans. He is never poised with a scratch pad keeping score. He understands the concept of teamwork and I just had no idea what to do with him in the beginning. I used to shoo him out of the kitchen, worried that he might find loading the dishwasher overwhelming. Silly of me. I had to cede control. Gulp.

It's been a totally liberating experience and I find myself back to that place where I can't help but be grateful. And you know that a man this evolved and secure just doesn't happen. He had to have been well loved as a child. Now more than ever, I can't wait to meet Dallas's mum and dad even if it's just to thank them.