I believe that men and women are different. That each gender has a special, God-ordained role that allows us to shield our weaknesses and maximize our strengths.
There’s one area in particular that I — quite inflexibly — consider a domain for The Man of The House. If, by some chance, the Women’s Liberation ever attempts to “equalize” this activity, I’ll be on the Washington Mall with a protest poster faster than Al Sharpton after a traffic stop.
What could this dark abyss of gender inequity possibly be, you ask?
Killing household pests.
In our house, this is and ever more shalt be The Man’s Job.
I consider myself a capable, level-headed and resourceful housewife. I can install curtain rods, unclog a toilet, change lightbulbs, move furniture and repair a vacuum cleaner. But I do not kill vermin.
If I were attacked by a chainsaw-wielding cockroach and was in fear for my life or the life of my child, I suppose I might resort to self-defense. But, short of that, I leave all vermin-killing assignments in the capable hands of my knight in shining bug spray: my darling hubby, Scott. Case in point:
Yesterday, as I got Griffin up from his nap, I heard a tiny squeaking that I mistakenly thought came from a loose board in our floor. Upon further inspection, I discovered an univited guest of the Mickey & Minnie variety stuck to one of the glue boards that Darryl (yes, we’re on a first-name basis with our exterminator) put out after our Brown Recluse invasion last year.
I am not normally one to shy away from animals, as long as they’re furry, but stumbling across a mouse in my own home was just too much for me to stave off the willies. Eeeeeeeek!
The little guy was good-n-stuck to the glue board and absolutely terrified. He writhed and squeaked almost as much as I did. I wanted this interloper evicted — and quick — but couldn’t bear to kill him. What’s a girl to do?
So I called in the reinforcements. Hooray for my wonderful husband! He cut his workday 30 minutes short and was home in a flash.
Yet even a pillar of strength has a soft side. Scott couldn’t kill the mouse either but somehow managed to pull him off the glue board and set him free (running toward the neighbor’s house . . . Sorry about that).
So you see, even our intrepid hero is a man of mercy. Except, of course, to the thievin’ squirrels in our backyard. But that is another story . . .