"You Want a Cookie for Doing the Dishes?" — A Story About Performative Partnership
"You Want a Cookie for Doing the Dishes?" — A Story About Performative Partnership
Every time he folds a towel, he looks at me like he just discovered fire.
Vacuumed the living room? He wants applause.
Loaded the dishwasher (halfway and all wrong)? He’s waiting for a parade.
And God forbid he mops the floor—he acts like he should be canonized.
I swear, my husband acts like housework is a heroic act, not a shared responsibility.
Let me tell you a little story.
We’ve been married eight years.
Three kids. Two careers. One very tired woman—me.
I work. Full-time.
I cook. Every day.
I clean. Constantly.
I schedule appointments, attend parent-teacher conferences, remember birthdays, make grocery lists, sign permission slips, wipe noses, bandage knees, soothe tantrums, and manage to smile through it all.
And him?
He’ll wash dishes once a week and walk around like he’s Father of the Year.
One evening, I’m in the kitchen—exhausted. I’ve cooked dinner, helped the kids with homework, bathed the baby, and finally sat down to answer an email from work.
He walks in and says, proud as can be,
“Babe… I cleaned the bathroom.”
Then he waits. Just… stands there. Smiling. Looking at me like he’s waiting for a standing ovation.
I said, “Okay, thank you.”
And he looks hurt. Like I didn’t react enough.
“You don’t even appreciate what I do around here.”
Oh.
So now it’s my turn to be the villain again.
I looked him straight in the face and said:
“Do you know how many bathrooms I’ve cleaned without making an announcement?”
He had no answer.
Because here’s the truth:
Men like him think they’re doing something for me when they help around the house.
They don’t realize I’m not asking for favors—I’m asking for partnership.
Actual shared labor. Not chore-stunts for praise.
Let me break it down for the men in the back who are waiting on cookies:
Housework is not a surprise party.
You live here. You eat here. You wear the clothes. You use the bathroom. You make the mess.
So you clean it. You fold it. You cook it. You schedule it.
And not to get a sticker or a trophy.
Because it’s called pulling your damn weight.
You think cleaning the kitchen once in a while makes you a hero?
I’ve cooked 1,000 meals in that same kitchen with a baby on my hip.
I’ve stayed up until 2 a.m. folding laundry and still woke up at 6 to pack lunches.
I’ve scrubbed that shower so many times I know where every stubborn tile stain lives.
You want me to faint because you Swiffered? Sir.
And let’s not forget—when I do things, nobody notices.
Nobody claps when the house is spotless.
Nobody thanks me for a clean shirt.
Nobody throws confetti when the fridge is full.
They just expect it.
But let him do the bare minimum and suddenly we’re supposed to hold a press conference.
“Breaking news: Local man wipes countertop. Wife overwhelmed with emotion.”
One night, I asked him:
“Do you know what I really want?”
He said, “What?”
I said, “I want you to do things without being asked. Without making it a big deal. I want you to stop treating housework like a performance. This isn’t about praise. It’s about respect.”
He got quiet.
Because deep down, he knew.
He knew I’d been carrying the load for years—quietly, consistently, invisibly.
He knew he only stepped in when it made him look good.
He knew the difference between doing and showing off.
I don’t want a husband who cleans to impress me.
I want a man who cleans because it’s part of life.
Because he’s grown.
Because we’re a team.
Because he respects the home we built and the woman who holds it down.
So, no—
You don’t get a cookie.
You get the satisfaction of knowing you're not deadweight.
You get the peace of a clean house.
You get a woman who finally doesn’t have to mother you.
You get a real partnership.
But if you’re only doing it for recognition?
If your motivation is “look at me!” and not “let me lighten your load,” then you’re not helping—you’re performing.
And I’ve got three kids. I don’t need a fourth.
The bar is not on the floor. Pick it up.
The broom is in the corner. Pick that up too.
And if you’re looking for a reward for acting like a grown man,
Go bake your own damn cookie.
Comments
Post a Comment