From Her Perspective

I know what you’re thinking – the glitz and glamour the Barstool life has afforded me would definitely have turned me into a jaded, love-hungry man-eater who is only interested in distinguished heads of state, smoke shows, and erotic experiences rivaling those of even Jon Gosselin AFTER he started wearing those ugly-ass earrings.  Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about...  Wait, that wasn’t what you were thinking?  At any rate, all of that pales in comparison to the story I am about to tell.  Husbands, take notes.  And wives, you may want to excuse yourselves to a more private location…

Let’s start with some back story: about eight months ago I was laid off, which, unfortunately, has happened to so many of us over this past year.  After a few weeks of television and Jack Daniel’s binges, I peeled myself off of the couch and decided that if I couldn’t be a career woman, I would become Susie Homemaker.  I made nutritious lunches for my husband and presented him with elaborate dinners each night.  Dirt, dust and mold were eradicated from my apartment by gallons of bleach and compulsive vacuuming.  Every drawer was organized, every item of clothing meticulously laundered.  Life wasn’t perfect, but it was satisfying.  It got me through frustratingly crappy interviews, shortages of money, and most of all, a daily structure and purpose.  Soon enough, I was too busy to work; I mean, who was going to empty the dishwasher, and someone had to alphabetize the cupboards. 

Well, eventually, I did get a job.  A dream job, actually, that I am so excited about.  The arrival of said job, however, brought on a certain amount of anxiety.  How would I juggle the career of my dreams with the upkeep of the apartment?  Hopelessly, I stared at the mounds of laundry that had piled up in the bedroom, paralyzed by fear.  And then, in walked my husband.  And he said the sexiest thing any man has ever said to me:

“Why don’t I do the laundry?”

It was as if a lust that I had never felt was awakened inside of me.  He separated the towels, darks and whites with a grace usually reserved for Dwayne Wade.  He even had his own quarters.  As he gallantly shouldered the heavy loads and walked through the door, he suggested I watch bad television while he waited for the wash to finish.  I shuddered with pleasure as I planted myself on the couch.

And then he took down the trash.

I should clarify that my husband is always doing helpful things, but I specifically took on the household tasks as a way of helping my self-esteem.  Therefore, I was especially swoony when he did all of this without my saying anything.  Anyway, back to the story…

As the evening wore on and I became more and more engrossed in crime shows, I suddenly realized that he had been missing for a while.  I went to the bedroom to investigate, and there he was, almost invisible beneath the piles of clean laundry.  My heart began to race and I trembled with desire.  He was folding.  The scent of gain perfumed the summer evening air and I sat on the bed and watched in ecstasy, mesmerized as he matched the socks, hypnotized as he hung dress shirts, and folded the sheets with perfect creases.

With heaving breath, the piles of clean clothes were put away in all the right places.  The bed pristinely made up, my husband looked at me knowingly.  I nodded rapturously.  And he went and got the Papa Gino’s delivery menu, and offered to pay. 

I’m sorry, does anyone have a cigarette?