house husbandry
It had been over 20 years since I'd last made a bed.
To some people (mostly women) that will sound shocking. Others (mostly men) will either shrug or announce an even longer hiatus.
At one point in my late bachelor career, I had a cleaning service come by every other week. Before their first visit, it had probably been a year since I'd vacuumed or swept.
Dishes I wash. Myself I wash. But that was it.
During our pre-marital counseling, my slovenliness was an issue. The counselors sided with my wife, my then-fiancee. I won't say here what my own stated position was to all of them. That would be indiscreet.
When Nathalie met me I was a successful dot-com professional -- of the dress-down-eat-out-and-tip-well variety. I was even a paper millionaire before the bubble burst and, like so many of us, I watched my fantasy early retirement disappear in the blink of a stock ticker.
Then I took the soul-deadening corporate cube-jockey position so we could budget and pay bills while she finished her dissertation.
And now that we're in the dawn of her professorial career, I'm a house husband. A house husband who hadn't made a bed in 20 years.
So first she had to teach me how to make the bed. I kid you not.
We bought a powerful vacuum cleaner with an attachment for cat hair and I started to notice when the floor was dirty.
(Side note: an iPod, Audible.com, and the MP3 library at the Mises Institute are a house husband's best friends!)
Last semester (since we live our life on the academic calendar), my kitchen duties were regular but simple: make bachelor food for two and wash up afterwards. Baby steps.
This semester, with the help of my-friend-the-former-restaurant-cook Anthony, and the guidance of The Politically Incorrect Gourmet -- author of There's a Government in Your Soup -- I am moving beyond bachelor chow and into the realm of what young Coraline calls "recipes".
It turns out I love to cook.
I may blog about some of my more successful experiments -- and maybe some of the mistakes.
To some people (mostly women) that will sound shocking. Others (mostly men) will either shrug or announce an even longer hiatus.
At one point in my late bachelor career, I had a cleaning service come by every other week. Before their first visit, it had probably been a year since I'd vacuumed or swept.
Dishes I wash. Myself I wash. But that was it.
During our pre-marital counseling, my slovenliness was an issue. The counselors sided with my wife, my then-fiancee. I won't say here what my own stated position was to all of them. That would be indiscreet.
When Nathalie met me I was a successful dot-com professional -- of the dress-down-eat-out-and-tip-well variety. I was even a paper millionaire before the bubble burst and, like so many of us, I watched my fantasy early retirement disappear in the blink of a stock ticker.
Then I took the soul-deadening corporate cube-jockey position so we could budget and pay bills while she finished her dissertation.
And now that we're in the dawn of her professorial career, I'm a house husband. A house husband who hadn't made a bed in 20 years.
So first she had to teach me how to make the bed. I kid you not.
We bought a powerful vacuum cleaner with an attachment for cat hair and I started to notice when the floor was dirty.
(Side note: an iPod, Audible.com, and the MP3 library at the Mises Institute are a house husband's best friends!)
Last semester (since we live our life on the academic calendar), my kitchen duties were regular but simple: make bachelor food for two and wash up afterwards. Baby steps.
This semester, with the help of my-friend-the-former-restaurant-cook Anthony, and the guidance of The Politically Incorrect Gourmet -- author of There's a Government in Your Soup -- I am moving beyond bachelor chow and into the realm of what young Coraline calls "recipes".
It turns out I love to cook.
I may blog about some of my more successful experiments -- and maybe some of the mistakes.
1 Comments:
I dunno what I'd do without the Mises Institute's MP3 library, either. At least three afternoons a week, I sit on our patio, smoke a good ceegar, and listen to Rothbard or Raico or Rockwell or Higgs or whomever. Great time spent -- and educational, too! (Will have to try this with the vacuum cleaner, I guess.)
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