23April
Im utterly exhausted from cleaning up after Mark. It feels easier to throw him out, get a divorce, finally have a tidy house, and then, perhaps, start over with someone else. I shouted that at him in a halfjoking fury.
Hold on, love, Mark laughed, lets not jump to drastic measures. Im just sitting here doing nothing, arent I?
Exactly! You do nothing. At least you dont get in the way, I snapped back.
Where do I get in the way? he asked, genuinely baffled, Im curled up like a shy mouse at my desk, not even sending a signal.
I pointed to the mug beside his keyboard. That mug! I said.
Its my tea, he replied with a grin.
And the other one, behind the monitor? My tone was edged with irritation. Ive been gathering all your cups since dawn.
Its my coffee I havent finished, Mark smiled. Ill finish it, dont worry. I treat cold coffee just as well as hotactually better. Ill even carry it to the kitchen myself, like a proper gentleman.
Really? I raised an eyebrow.
Quite honestly, he said, and Ill wash them too!
I want to believe you, but experience tells me youre lying, I said firmly. Finish the coffee now and hand me the mug!
Im drinking tea, Mark stammered, I dont want to mix things up
A heavy sigh escaped me, but I walked over to check the mug. If there were even three drops left, I could work with that.
Mark, are you kidding? I shouted. The mug isnt just empty, the coffee residue has dried up! What are you planning to finish?
Seriously? he looked puzzled. What a dry house! There was coffee in there yesterday. We need a humidifier!
Mark, what should we buy so youll actually clean up after yourself? I leaned back in the armchair he was perched in. What will you do, then?! I barked, almost into his ear. And whats this?
Its a water cup, he answered. You never let me bring a bottle in, so I have to make do with halfmeasures.
Because the fizzy drink is for everyone, not just you! I retorted. If you put a bottle next to you youll finish it, and too much soda is unhealthy.
So the cup! Mark insisted.
I realised I would have to collect those mugs around his computer again later. The cleaning wasnt over, and I still had work to do. As I left the room, I noticed Marks odd posture.
I didnt waste time. I pulled the arm of his chair and nudged it forward with him still seated.
Smells like a divorce here, I warned, voice low.
Its just a biscuit, Mark said, putting on his most innocent face.
Not even on a plate, just on your lap! Crumbs on the floor and Ive already vacuumed! I raised my voice with each sentence, my temper flaring.
Ill tidy up! he called out.
He tried to brush the biscuit off his leg, but it slipped onto the floor and shattered into many pieces.
Mark shut his eyes, expecting me to grab a broom, a cloth, a mop, maybe the vacuum, but none of that came. He opened one eye, halfexpectant.
I sat on the sofa, clutching my head: Im so tired of all this, I said, voice trembling. Four people live in this flat, two of them are children. But the biggest mess comes from you, an adult, capable, not foolish man! You ought to set an example! Im constantly picking up after youcups everywhere, plates, saucers, candy wrappers mysteriously ending up between couch cushions, endless crumbs on the table. Have we ever had a cockroach infestation?
Ill buy chalk, Molly, Mark replied apologetically, but I didnt hear him.
Even when you throw away rubbish you cant get it into the bin! Is it so hard to check if its in? If not, just toss it in! Your back wont break if you bend down and pick it up!
I lowered my hands and looked straight into his eyes. And that chocolate bar you hid under the pillow? Ill never forgive you for thatmy favourite!
Marks face flushed; shame washed over him. He stammered, Lucy! Lucy!
The hurt in my voice turned into resolve. In a week Im going on holidaythree weeks, actually. The kids will stay with my mum. If I come back and the flat looks like a pigsty, Ill divorce you. I cant put up with this any longer. I finish cleaning, and then start all over again!
Mark stared at me, horrified. Just clean up the cups now and sweep up the biscuit crumbs, please.
He did exactly what I asked, though I doubted he believed I would really leave with the children for three weeks. He thought I was just trying to scare him.
But I left! I even showed him the return tickets Id booked in advance. Mark now faces three weeks of lonely, proud solitude. The prospect terrified him.
Before I went, I made sure the house was spotless and warned, If it isnt, you can file for divorce yourself. My patience has run out.
—
Men have a curious relationship with cleanliness. Some are meticulous, demanding order and capable of creating it. The majority, however, place tidiness far down the priority list. Cleanliness itself is a flexible concept. A stray piece of paper that doesnt irritate the eye can linger until the next scheduled cleaning, or be shoved under a sofa or chair with a lazy foot. Dust on the TV can be wiped away when the paint fades or the sunlight highlights the grime, turning the screen into a loveletter canvas. A handful of sand on the floor isnt a problem if youre in slippers and dont slip on it. And the piles of dishes, cups, forks, knives, and pans waiting by the sink? We could talk about them forever.
Why waste effort on a single chore? Better to gather everything and tackle it like a modernday Hercules, not a routine dishwash.
Debates about misplaced items could last a lifetimemaybe a piece of clothing has simply changed its address? Pants on a chair could be in the right place, while in the wardrobe theyd feel lonely.
Mark fits the typical male stereotype regarding cleanlinesswhat my sister calls a pigsty. Yet he can cook, fix things, and even take the initiative to tidy when the mood strikes, as if it were a hobby.
The problem is timing. I might feel a sudden urge to clean the stove, only to find Mark already boiling something; I cant interfere, and I dont want to cause a clash. Noble intentions are smothered by copper pots. Other tasks simply dont capture his interest. Moreover, I often have to demand activity when he lacks both desire and inclination. When my mood swings unexpectedly, theres nothing left to do.
Aside from those hiccups, Mark is a good husband. He works well, brings home a decent wage in pounds, loves his family, dotes on the kids, and picks up a bit of extra work. His only bad habit is his love of video games, which I can easily distract him from when needed.
When I make an impulsive purchase, Mark shrugs, Its a woman thing. When I come home from work drained, he shoulders my troubles, listens, sympathises, even scolds my colleaguesthough he never actually sees them. Overall, our family is solid, except for one glaring issue: Marks attitude to tidiness. He should clean up, but the mess always ends up on me.
With two daughters who only play with their dad and leave every problem for Mom, I finally reached my limit. Either I reeducate him to keep things in order, or I spare my nerves and stop breaking my heart over perpetual messes.
—
A week before my return, I called Mark. How are things?
Fine, he answered.
Its your weekjust a headsup! I said.
Its all fine here, he replied.
I called again three days before, then two, then the day before, each time reminding him that if he hadnt tidied up his solo living space, there was still time. Honestly, I missed him a lot during those three weeks. Wed never been apart for longer than a week since we married, and three weeks felt like an eternity. I warned him to avoid any reason for divorce, even though I was ready to forgive if the flat turned into a pigsty.
No fighting, no sanctionsjust a warning. The moment came when I dropped the kids at the playground, chatted about my visit to my mum with friends, and headed back home.
Mark, youve really surprised me! I exclaimed.
You havent, Lucy! he retorted sharply. Its like that joke about the man who lives alone for three weeks!
What joke? I asked, puzzled.
I survived three weeks using only one pot and one pan, washing them before each use. One plate, one fork, one spoonwashed before each meal. Two cups total: one for tea, one for coffee. I drank water, soda, and juice from bottles I tossed on my way to work. Thats the habit youve built up over the years! Before you came back, I just walked around the flat with the vacuum. Done! Spotless!
What are you trying to say? I asked warily.
That Im not the one making a mess! he declared. And for the record, the chocolate bar you still blame me for? You hid it when you were on a diet, and I kept quiet!
But you always leave things behind I began.
If you didnt interfere, didnt poke where I wasnt asked, the problem wouldnt exist! he shot back.
The next day the flat was a disaster again, as usual. But I started cleaning with the full understanding that Mark wasnt the sole culprit.
The kids, perhaps, I mused. But theyre just kidstime to get them involved in cleaning too. When they make a mess, theyll learn to tidy up, and Mum wont be left holding the broom alone.
