But if my husband does it, it'll take TWICE as long

Okay, so even though I think I married like the best man in the whole wide world (besides Channing Tatum. Seriously Channing, if you’re reading this, call me), and my husband’s like crazy supportive and likes to offer to help all the time, what I’m realizing lately is that getting help from him is usually more work than just doing it myself. Do you ever feel that way?

I’m always bitching that I have too much to do, so he’s like how can I help, and I think about allllll the shit on my to-do list– fill out school forms, buy birthday gifts, figure out carpool– and I’m like no, no, no, he can’t do any of those. So finally after racking my brain, I figure out a task he can do.

I TEXT HIM: You can pick Zoey up from her playdate.

HE TEXTS ME BACK: Can do! Where does she live?

In that blue house on that street that’s one or two streets after the intersection near the school. I don’t know her address. I mean once maybe I did, but now I just know which house it is. So I text my friend and ask for her address, which is totally embarrassing since we’ve known each other for years. And a few seconds later her text swooshes into my phone. Not really. Really it just pops up there, but it makes this really cool swooshing noise that makes me think I’m cool for a moment. Which I’m not. So I text the address to my hubby.

MY TEXT: 1942 Oakdale. Make sure she brings home her American Girl Doll.

HIS TEXT: Okay. Which doll is that?

MY TEXT: Isabelle. The one with the blonde hair.

HIS TEXT: The big one?

MY TEXT: Dude, the only F’ing doll she brought over to the play date, so just make sure she’s carrying a doll when she walks out the door.

I don’t really type all that, but I want to.


(Fifteen minutes later)

HIM: I’ve got Zoey!!

ME: Great.

Whatta you want, an F’ing medal?

HIM: Whoops, forgot the doll.

(read like the soup Nazi) No medal for you.

And it’s at that moment that I realize two things: A. I’m gonna have to drive over there to pick up the stupid doll so my kid doesn’t FREAK out at bedtime tonight and B. In the time that I just spent texting my hubby, I could have picked Zoey up and brought her home. WITH the doll.

Or how about this shit? When my husband offers to do the grocery shopping and in my head I’m thinking, wow, that’s really nice but if you do the grocery shopping you’re gonna get all the wrong stuff or you’re gonna call me like 9,000 times from the store to ask me stupid shit like, “I can’t find baking soda. Is it in the soda section?” But we REALLY need food (even though our freezer is always PACKED with shit) and I can’t go shopping today so fine, I’ll send him instead. I grab the shopping list off the fridge, and I start to write some notes on it to clarify some stuff for him. This is what the grocery list looks like when I’m done with it.

Apples- Honeycrisp, but if they don’t have Honeycrisp get a different kind of red apple but not red delicious.

Blueberries- organic and look for a package that doesn’t have a lot of stems

Strawberries- make sure you can’t see mold in the package

Avocados- black but not too black and a little soft, awww forget it

Baby Bel- the red kind, this is cheese

Veggie straws- but only if they have the brand in the green and white bag

Diet coke- 12 cans WITH CAFFEINE

Sunbutter- this is fake peanut butter and might be in PB section or maybe in natural foods section

And then I realize I’m only like ¼ through the list and this is just not worth it, so I text him.

ME: Let’s just order a pizza tonight and I’ll go shopping tomorrow.

HIM: Awesome.

And this is why there are tasks that I do around the house and why there are different tasks my hubby does: takes out the trash, cleans the gutters, cooks food on the grill, puts air in the tires etc etc etc. It’s not because he CAN’T do the other shit. It’s just because as a wife and mom, I think I can do it better. And faster. And without asking 9,000 questions.

I mean sometimes I wonder WTF would happen if something happened to me and he had to do it all alone. He might accidentally buy the wrong kind of veggie straws, or soda, or my daughter might not have her beloved doll at bedtime and she might have to take a chill pill and learn to cope. Dear God, the wrong veggie straws, how will they go on?

Alrighty then, basically I just proved that I am an ungrateful, control freak who can’t take help when someone offers it to me. Awesome. Well, at least we’ll have the right cheese.

Woah woah woah, whatta you mean you haven’t read I Heart My Little A-Holes? It’ll make you laugh like a crazy person so be careful where you read it because you don’t want them to take you away in a straight jacket to a nice, quiet, padded cell where you’ll have to live for a few weeks. Wait, that sounds kinda nice.


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