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On Men and Cleaning (or lack of the ability)

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Well as I said in a previous post, Gerhard has been struck down by some man flu.  I actually feel a tad guilty as he really appears sick, although with the male species you can never truly tell...anyhow, so last night I get home once again and the poor man could not even bother to switch on the dishwasher, now at this juncture I have to point out that I am actually the one packing the dishwasher.  In Gerhard's eyes, the dishes merely have to be brought to the vicinity of the dishwasher, say a 5 meter radius.  The dishes will then actually climb into the dishwasher all by themselves.  Had I not known this man almost all my life I would have sworn that he was reading some Terry Pratchett on the sly. 

Washing, ironing, all foreign concepts to him.  Picking up shoes after wearing these, shoes are made for walking, so of course when we go to bed at night, the shoes just walk themselves up the stairs.  Cooking, happens all by its lonesome self.  The toys scattered all around the house starts playing with each other like in Toy Story and then Woody shouts places everyone and the toys all go to bed. 

Now I know Gerhard's parents, their house is always tidy, their shoes kept in cupboards, where does this man come from?  Seriously, why is it that both of us spend all day working, we then come home and on top of my rather demanding full time job, restoring order to house and home is my problem, feeding us all, shopping, getting cat litter and carting our two year old around.  All mom's duties?  Women have been burning bras' (though obviously nothing too expensive like la perla) so that I don't have to cook.  How do people without domestic workers cope.  Why do they not kill their husbands? 

What has love gotta do with it?  
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