I make 80 percent of the money and do 75% of the housework. I’m tired. I’m also doing feminism wrong somehow. Help.
Don’t ask me for help. Ask your lazy, good-for-nothing partner for help. Better yet, demand his help. Realign the inequitable gender roles in your relationship with the unilateral force of someone who brings home the fucking bacon.
Why isn’t he the one taking care of the house? What, is that women’s work? No. Huh-uh. Fuck that shit right back to the 1950’s. That’s not how the game is played anymore, and folding the laundry before you stick it in the drawer ain’t that hard a trick to learn.
Give him an order, and expect it to get done. You know you can do that, right? You’re in charge, even if you don’t wanna be. Don’t put up with one ounce of whiny prideful bullshit, and if he doesn’t step up, then he can fuck right off.
Honestly, what does this guy bring to the table? Is he a fitness model? Is he making you cum three times a day? Is he as emotionally supportive as a therapist and two best friends? He’d better be all those things, because if he’s just some basic bro kicking in beer money and the occasional light bulb change, then I gotta ask what the fuck are you still doing with him?
Unfortunately, I already know the answer, and it’s is as ugly as it is obvious: relationship inertia. You’re used to his lazy ass, and it would take time and energy to either whip it into shape or kick it to the curb.
Well, tough shit. You picked him, and you spoiled him by bringing too much to the table. Now you gotta deal with him, and if he’s not worth the effort, then you gotta deal with that too.