Monday, March 10, 2014

Marriage 601, Lecture 732: Husbands who didn't do it right when they married

I have made this friend at the gym. Let's call her Belinda.

Belinda and I are slow gym friends. That means that for the past 19 months, we have said hello and have gradually approached more intimate conversation, such as, "Does the guy who goes 'Woooo!' during pump annoy the heck out of you?"

Which of course it does. Who is not annoyed by someone who goes "Woooo!" every time he presses a weight up or even between sets, when there is no music playing at all. He is not even a rythmic "Wooo-er!" He is just random and weird. He does not "Wooo!" during spin, but he does grunt at random and drips sweat on the floor and then doesn't even wipe it up.

One day, during spin, I felt some sweat hit my leg, which astonished me, as I never work hard enough to generate sweat. Never. I am lazy. I go to the gym, but it is the going that counts. Right?

But here I was, sweating.

Only no. It was not I sweating. It was "Wooo!"-ing guy. His sweat. Blowing onto me.

I am not a squeamish person. I don't get bothered by whether people wash their hands unless they are actually peeing on them. I do mind things like spit and snot and sweat, though. So maybe I am a squeamish person. In any case, having someone else's sweat on me squeamed me out and I felt nauseated and ick and now I make sure to be nowhere near "Wooo!"-ing guy when I do spin.

So Belinda and I have edged closer to being friends. We are now connected on LinkedIn because I am always trying to network. I have never gotten a job through networking, unless you count working as a cocktail waitress during Christmas break of my sophomore year of college at the bar owned by our neighbor down the street, but I hold hope that someday it will happen and I won't have to go through the painful process of filling out the Taleo online application, which must be the worst system in the world. Hello, Taleo, I did not major in "English Studies!" I majored in English. Adding "studies" to a field usually diminishes the field. Did you guys do no user testing?

Belinda wants a new job. I told her I would help her with her resume. We have talked about the challenges of looking for work when one is a Woman of A Certain Age. We don't know if it's true. We laughed about the article on LinkedIn about how to look for a job when you are of A Certain Age. It contained advice like have a contemporary haircut. Be stylish. Stay in shape. Know how to use technology.

We wondered who the writer was talking to, as I am very accustomed to Women of A Certain Age who are stylish and au courant with technology.

And we have compared notes on husbands. I thought I was the only one married to a man who doesn't like how I do dishes.

Oh, no! Belinda told me. My husband doesn't like how I do laundry, so he does all of the laundry. That's fine with me.

I told her SH doesn't hate how I do laundry enough to take over the task.

She told me her husband doesn't like how she does dishes, so he does them. He doesn't like how she loads the dishwasher, so he does it all.

She shrugged. "Fine with me," she said.

I told her how SH doesn't think I put the dishes away right - that I will put them away wet and I don't stack the silverware properly.

Then she paused. Thought. Spoke. "It must be really hard on our husbands to have to follow around such incompetent wives, doing things right when the wives do it wrong."

I agreed that it must.


Gaylin said...

One of the few good things about my ex husband, he thought I vacuumed wrong so he did it. What a hardship for me.

And ew, flinging your sweat on people at the gym is so very, very wrong.

I used to be the stern mom at the gym and give big guys heck for not wiping up after themselves!

Kyle said...

EEEEWWWW! Random flying sweat. I have to say I've never heard a "Woooo!" guy but find the gym grunter particularly irritating.

Artsy in Boulder said...

Eeeww, indeed. I am totally skeeved out by body drool (flying sweat) and projectile BO. I feel I must now go shower in solidarity with you and Belinda. I have forsaken the gym scene, as I just could not handle the the biologicalness of it all. (I know, I know--Women of a Certain Age need to weight train and engage in high-intensity interval training, lest [insert horrible medical consequence here] or at very least their triceps sag into the fleshly equivalent of dolman sleeves--I promise I'm addressing these threats elsewhere.)

And I'm definitely a member of the Not Doing It Right sisterhood. Over the years, The Artsy Husband (who is totally awesome, and a patient saint to boot) has commandeered the dishwashing; all contact with the dishwasher, which I, of course, cannot be trusted to operate properly; the laundry (here is rife ground for mutual recrimination over NDIR), and the vacuuming (he definitely does a better job, truth be told). Lest anyone think that leaves me eating bonbons, I take care of most of the potential-biohazard chores. It fascinates me that TAH is willing to (A) clean all dirty dishes ("Mine!") but will not touch the kitchen counters, even if there is a potential petri-dish situation that would scar his of-Dutch/German-descent soul, and (B) scrub out the toilet bowl while leaving the remainder of the Convenience untouched (fear not--this labor falls to me).

webb said...

Fortunately, I don't wash dishes right or vacuum or scrub the bathroom floors correctly! i also hang the toilet paper wrong. What a crappy housekeeper i am - hoorah! I am very happy to allow him to do it correctly.

avoid the whoo guy like the plague! If he worked out in any of the gyms we manage, he would have been talked to long ago - about cleaning equipment behind himself. Wimpy gym staff.