Bob, The Ultimate Househusband

Looking back through the 57 years of marriage I can see where Bob has always had a househusband yearning. I think it began way back to us coming home from our honeymoon in the Pocono Mountains, and me dressing for bed, leaving sweater and skirt on the back of a chair, and him saying, “Aren’t you going to hang them up?” We were marriage for one week for goodness sakes!  But that should have been my first clue. I still don’t hang my clothing up right away because I consider it a sort of airing out process. Eventually they do take their place in the closet.

No, he doesn’t arrange all the spices in alphabetic order, or put the canned goods with their contents facing out. That’s compulsive, he’s househusband-y.

Over the years he’s tried to take over the food shopping and there were many times he managed to do it. Like when we only had the one car he would happily stop at the supermarket on the way home from work and bring home the bacon. There were also times he’d come with me to the supermarket and take charge. His—take no prisoners—attitude had me walking two steps behind the shopping cart. Yes, he knows what he was doing, does it well, and loves doing it. He has a coupon collection that is a thick as War and Peace.

The laundry was another factor in his goal of househusband. During the week while he was at work I would do all the laundry. On weekends he would disappear down to the basement right after breakfast and I’d hear the washer going. “What the heck is he washing?” I’d wonder. One time I went down to see. He’d done one load and was preparing another. I went to take the one load out of the washer and he snapped, “Don’t do it that way, shake, shake the wet clothes out before putting them into the dryer. Shake them.” I never again went down to the basement while he was washing.

The dishwasher organization still goes on. There are times when I foolishly place a cup or plate into the dishwasher only to have him move it to a better spot.

He’s a genius at this househusband thing. If only I could have had a job/a career that could have supported us letting him stay home to take care of the house. It would have run so much smoother. One time I came home from being away for 3 or 4 days, and found the house in perfect shape. My friend, who’d brought me home, and was never too tactful said, “Wow! I’ve never seen your house so clean and picked up.” Well, she was tactless but right about that.

Now he’s retired, retired for about almost twenty years and does his househusband job full time. Friends will ask me, “Well, what do you do?” It’s hard for me to answer that. I want to say: all the cooking, dusting, bathrooms, birthday, anniversary and sympathy cards, entertaining, gardening, and decorating but, instead I smile and say, “Just sit around popping grapes and looking pretty. I’m retired!” Actually, I consider myself upper management.

Right now as I write this I can hear the washer going and he’s got the ironing board set up in front of the TV. He’s humming. Eat your heart out girls, I’m keeping him.