Ah, those funny and sarcastic ecards. They’ll be the death of me yet. I saw yet another one. This one said, “Marriage is just a fancy word for adopting an overgrown man-child who’s incapable of taking care of himself.”
I’ll admit it: I laughed. I mean, how many times have we married ladies gathered together and giggled at our husbands’ inability to do the simplest tasks, from sorting laundry to putting dishes away in the right place? And CLEANING? Good heavens, do they even SEE the dust piling up on the baseboards or that grimy ring in the bathtub?
Yet simultaneously, I cringed. Is this what the perception of men has really come to? Is that really the best we can hope for of our husbands, our sons? Not that long ago, men were our champions, our defenders, our heroes, our knights in shining armor. On TV, we had competent, respected fathers like Andy Griffith. Now we have Everybody Loves Raymond.
While the “manly man” epoch gave a distorted view of helpless women, do we really have to reverse roles in order for women to be elevated? Do we have to tear men down in order to build women up?
I am a mostly competent, fairly independent person. But when my car was wrongfully repossessed, I wouldn’t have been able to speak coherently through my tears or shouts—-whichever was dominant at the time—to get to the bottom of the problem. My husband had to take care of me. When it comes to those mundane tasks he just doesn’t seem to see the need for, like folding laundry, I’ve got his back. Yes, I take care of him. And he takes care of me. Which is just as it should be.