Not my job

My name is Deanna and I am an enabler. (Hi, Deanna) If something isn’t done I will do it myself. Thus, I am always the one doing the menial chores. Well, that is going to stop because I am doing my children a disservice.

I came home from the store a few days ago and much to my amazement my husband unloaded the dishwasher. I applauded and busted out a cheer from my high school days. Yes, I was a cheerleader. It was a brief experiment. My legs are like bricks. My Herkie looked more like a country music line move. Plus, cheerleading skirts and cankles don’t mix. “We are proud of you, hey! We are proud of you,” I chanted. My 13-year-old looked confused. “Are you being sarcastic? I don’t get it. Dad did you a favor.” (Cue: sound of tires screeching)
Excuse me? You could have heard a pin drop. I went all Susan B. Anthony on his ass. “Did me a favor? That is not my job! Am I the only one who uses dishes? He did me a favor because I am a woman? Men can put dishes away too!” My husband held his breath while I continued. At this point I was talking so loud and fast spit was flying, “I am not the maid.” My son looked terrified, “I’m sorry Mom.” He damn well better be. Someday his wife will thank me for this rant.

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