Monday, January 21, 2013

He's a Girl and I'm a Boy. Wait. That's Not Right At All.

For, like, a minute, my husband and I were that adorable couple who looked for all of the signs that we belonged together and giggled over how cute we were. I promise this lasted for all of 2 weeks when we very first started dating. That's all I could take without vomiting.

There are still a couple of cute things about us that make people laugh. Sometimes they cause struggles. Sometimes they are just funny.

My husband has three sisters. I have three brothers. We are both child number three.

When we first met, this was cute. It still is, but now it explains a whole lot about why we argue.

The lines between feminine things and masculine things are really blurred, and we can't decide whether we want to hold on to the stereotype, embrace the way we grew up or find some weird medium between the two.

I want to decorate the house. He wants to have input. I don't want him to have input because the penis precludes the input. He doesn't see it that way.

He wants me to cook for him. I don't like to cook, nor do I know how. I will feed him somehow, but it isn't going to be fancy. Sometimes I wish that he would get off his lazy butt and just get himself a damn sandwich. I am not exaggerating at all when I say that he won't.

He does the lawn. He wants me to help with the lawn. This is lame and boring to me. Remember how I'm a woman and lawns are stupid? Then he reminds me that I don't want to cook either, and I tell him to shove it up his face.

He refuses to touch the dishes, but prefers (read: requires) them to be handwashed because "the dishwasher doesn't do anything". It's not that he's wrong, but he doesn't do the work. Further more, when I clean the dishes, they are never clean enough for him, and he points it out. Then I shove a spatula down his throat.

We spend a lot of time in this weird gender no-mans land where we can't decide which we are (if either). In childhood, I learned to act like a boy. He learned to be far more sensitive than I am. He talks about his feelings. I don't have many feelings. We both like sports, but his team is stupid.

We're like two parts of a majorly fucked up tranny, or something.

So, we continue to figure it out. What other option do we have?

As always, it's hip to be square (and confused!), kids.

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