Fed Up with Picking Up After My Husband

28October2025 Evening

Ive reached a point where Im fed up with cleaning up after my wife. The thought crossed my mind that it would be easier just to push her out, get a divorce and finally have a tidy house. Then, perhaps, we could start afresh.

Hold on, love, dont be so hasty! I tried to smile, Im just sitting here doing nothing.

She snapped back, Exactly you do nothing! At least you dont get in the way when youre not helping.

Im not getting in the way, I protested, Im curled up like a mouse in front of the computer, not even sending out any signals!

Cup! she pointed to the mug beside my keyboard.

Thats my tea, I said, trying to sound casual.

And the other one, over the monitor? Her tone was tinged with irritation. Ive been gathering all your cups since sunrise.

Thats my halffinished coffee, I grinned. Dont worry, Ill finish it. I treat cold coffee as well as hot, maybe even better. Ill carry the empty cups to the kitchen myself, honestly.

She raised an eyebrow. Really?

Deadcertain, I nodded. Ill even wash them.

Id love to believe you, but experience tells me youre lying, she said firmly. Finish the coffee now and hand me the cup.

Im drinking tea, not coffee, I stammered, I dont want to mix them up

A heavy sigh escaped her, but she moved to check the mug. If only three drops remained, shed consider it a sacrifice.

Are you joking? she shouted. The cup is practically empty; the coffee residue has already crusted over! What were you planning to finish?

Seriously? I asked, bewildered. What a dry house! There was coffee here yesterday. We need a humidifier.

What should we buy to make you actually clean up after yourself? she leaned back in the armchair I was perched on. What will you do, Chris?! she jabbed, almost into my ear. And whats this?

Its a water mug, I replied. You wont let me bring a bottle in, so I have to make do with halfmeasures.

Because the fizzy drinks are for everyone, not just you! she retorted. If you leave a bottle next to you, youll finish it, and too much fizz isnt good for you.

So a mug it is, I said.

I realised Id have to repeat the ritual of gathering cups around the computer. The cleaning wasnt over, and I had plenty to do. As I left the room, I caught a strange pose my husbandmehad taken.

Not one to give up, I returned, pulled the chair back by its arm, and slid it out with myself still seated.

How the scent of divorce hangs in the air! I declared dramatically.

Its just a biscuit, Chris answered with an innocent look.

It isnt even on a plate, its on my knee! The crumbs are on the floor and Ive just vacuumed! I raised my voice with each sentence, my frustration growing.

Ill clean it up! Chris shouted.

He tried to brush the biscuit off his knee, but it slipped treacherously onto the floor and shattered into pieces.

I shut my eyes, expecting him to grab a broom, a rag, a mop or a vacuum, but nothing came. He dared to open one eye.

I sat on the sofa, holding my head with both hands.

Im exhausted by all this, I said, my voice trembling. Four people live in this flat, two of them are kids! But the biggest mess comes from you, an adult, a capable, notstupid man! You should set an example, yet Im constantly left picking up after youcups everywhere, plates, saucers, candy wrappers mysteriously finding their way between sofa cushions, crumbs on the table. Have we ever had a cockroach problem?

Ill buy some chalk, Molly, Chris replied apologetically, but I didnt hear him.

Even when you take out the trash you cant get it into the bin! Is it so hard to check whether its in? If it isnt, just toss it in! Your back wont break if you bend down to pick it up.

I lowered my arms and looked him straight in the eye.

And that chocolate bar you left under the pillow? Ill never forgive you for that; it was my favourite!

Chris flushed crimson, genuinely ashamed, and bitter that his actions had upset me so deeply.

Julie! he called, though Im Chris.

His hurt turned into resolve.

Next week Im off on holidaythree weeks, and the kids will stay with my mum. If you return to a pigsty, Ill divorce you on the spot! I cant endure this any longer. I finish cleaning only to start all over again because of you!

Chris stared at me in horror.

Just now, please clear the cups and sweep up the biscuit crumbs, please.

He obeyed immediately, though he doubted Id really leave for three weeks. He thought I was just trying to scare him.

But I left. I even showed the return tickets Id bought in advance. For three weeks Chris will have to live in proud solitude. The prospect terrified him.

Before I went, I made sure the house was spotless and warned, If things arent right when I get back, you can file for divorce yourself. My patience has run out.

Men have a peculiar relationship with cleanliness. Some men are meticulous and expect sterility, not just for themselves but for others. Most, however, place tidiness far down their list of priorities. Cleanliness is a flexible concept. A stray piece of paper that doesnt irritate the eye can wait until the next scheduled cleaning, or be slyly nudged under a sofa. Dust on the TV is only wiped when the picture fades or sunlight highlights it. A speck of sand on the floor isnt a problem unless you slip on it. And dishes that linger in the sink? We could talk forever.

The point is, why turn a single act of tidying into a Herculean effort? It should feel like a small triumph, not a chore of mythic proportions.

I, Chris, belong to that majority of men with a lax attitude toward ordermy wife called me a piglike creature. I can cook, fix things, and even tidy up on a whim, but often my desires clash with reality. Id love to wash the stove, but shes already simmering something else, and I dont want to interfere. My bursts of enthusiasm are rarer than Id like. When my wife demands action on days I feel none, Im forced to act anyway, even if my mood is elsewhere.

Despite my flaws, Im a decent family man. I work hard, earn a steady wage, love my wife and adore my children, and even pick up extra gigs. My only guilty pleasure is video games, which Julie can distract me from when needed. When she makes impulsive purchases, I shrug it offyoure a woman, thats how you are, I say. When she returns home weary, I listen, share her burdens, and even scold her colleagues in my mind, though I never see them.

Overall, our family is fine, except for one sticking point: my lack of selfcleaning. If I cleaned myself, she wouldnt have to do everything, but shes already juggling two daughters who, with Dad, only play while Mom bears the brunt of the mess.

So I finally decided to change. Either Ill be reeducated into a tidy husband, or Ill spare my own nerves and stop breaking my own heart by repeatedly reminding myself to clean up after me.

A week before I was due back, Julie called:

How are you holding up?

Fine, I replied.

Just a week left, just a headsup in case you need to finish any cleaning.

Everythings fine here.

She kept calling three days before, then two, then the day before, reminding me that shed be back soon and that I still had time to sort the house.

Honestly, I missed her terribly. Wed never been apart for more than a week since we married, and three weeks felt endless. She warned me not to give her any reason to seek divorce, though she was ready to forgive even a pigsty. No threats, just a firm reminder that Id better pull my weight.

When I finally opened the door after leaving the kids at the playground, I was greeted by:

Mr. Thompson, youve surprised me! I exclaimed.

Youve surprised me, Julia, I said sternly. Its like that joke you hear about the onepot lifestyle.

What joke? she asked, confused.

I lived alone for three weeks, using a single pot and pan, washing them before each use. One mug for tea, one for coffeejust two! I drank water, fizzy drinks, and juice from bottles I threw away on my way to work. Thats the habit youve been pointing out for years!

And whats the point of all that? she asked cautiously.

The point is, Im not the one making the mess! I declared. You and the kids love sweets, thats true. That chocolate bar you keep blaming me for? You hid it when you were on a diet, and I kept silent!

But you still leave she began, grasping at straws.

If you didnt interfere with my attempts to tidy up, no problem would arise.

The next day the flat was a mess again, as usual, but Julie tackled the cleaning with the understanding that I wasnt the main source of chaos.

Kids, perhaps, she mused, but theyll learn to help too. After all, if they see us cleaning, theyll pick up after themselves.

**Lesson:** Ive learned that a partnership thrives only when both people share the load. If I keep pretending Im tidying while neglecting the basics, the houseand the marriagewill crumble. Real change comes from honest effort, not empty promises.