Last week, I wrote that Hubster and I did everything equally. That we shared all tasks, and willingly made up the slack when the other was stressed out of their mind and unable to function (which we take turns at about every other week.)
Well, I lied.
There are things that I simply will NOT do.
And I'm not talking about cleaning up puke, defusing exploding diapers, or cleaning up "what on EARTH is that?!!" stuff on the floor.
We both do that.
What I'm talking about it much worse.
I DO NOT smell suspicious food in the refrigerator.
Is that milk still good? I don't know, you smell it.
How long has this casserole been in here? I don't know, you take the lid off the tubberware container and look at the stuff.
Do we have any tomatoes? I don't know, you go digging around in the back of the produce drawer and tell me if everything is still recognizable.
I just can't bring myself to do it. I have puked into the kitchen sink after opening a three-day-old bottle. I'm pretty sure that smelling a may-or-may-not-be-expired gallon of milk, and then tasting it just to be sure, and having either one of those prove that, yes, indeed, the milk is bad, would ruin my ability to cook for at least a week.
And that would be bad. Because cooking is the one thing that Hubster does NOT do.
(Oh, and I don't kill spiders.)