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  Okay, I was thinking about what the definition is of a good wife. I think I am a pretty good wife, but that is by my own definition, and admittedly very lax. I have weeks on when I am good and then I have weeks, or, er, months off where I just let the dust and dirt and piles of toys build up everywhere and don't even notice let alone care. I admit I couldn't give a monkey's ass about cleaning, apart from bathrooms and toilets, because, well, my dad didn't clean his toilet for years and the memory of his brown encrusted toilet bowl has scared me for life.
 What I consider being a pretty good wife is basically doing laundry, putting stuff in the right cupboards, not necessarily well folded, and never ironed. I don't make beds. I Hoover about once every two weeks. I like to cook and I am a very good cook but I rarely do. I usually just get some crap out of the freezer.
Do I put away summer clothes in neatly labeled moth tight boxes and replace with winter wardrobe? No. It's all mixed up together.
Do I do anything else a well organized housewife does? No.
How do I fill the hours? Well, that's a secret, but let me tell you, I manage to fill them pretty well without much to show for it. And I never drink before, ooh, four o'clock in the afternoon.
So what do you think, am I a good wife?
By the way, I only have three rules for a good husband:
1. No, you do not need to come clothes shopping with me. You will just hang around the lingerie department fingering bras and saying, "Ooh this is nice" when I have quite enough lingerie, thank you very much. You will also want me to buy lots of slutty dresses, when it is, hello, winter and all I want is a fleece lined jacket and some walking boots and I can buy those on my own thank you very much.
2. Minds kids on weekends while mother has me time reading celebrity trash mags and drinking cappuccino or looking at Internet porn.
3. Don't demand sex as part of some conjugal rights 'package'. If you demand sex, if you pester, plead or cajole, you will just end up with mommy having a lot of headaches. Don't expect me to be in the mood right after I have cleared up some child vomit in the bathroom. There needs to be at least five to ten minutes of semi-adult conversation, possibly lightly sexual in tone, to get your wife off wondering whether your daughter ate some rotten fish, to yeah, go on then, get your trousers off. The strange thing is, this never bothers men. They can be cleaning up vomit one minute and getting down to sex nano-seconds later, which says something about how the human race has survived for so long (men completing sex in seconds in the wild else risking attack by wild beasts) or how strange it is that men and women are wired so differently.
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Emma K
