For some people, Valentine’s Day is all about expensive jewelry, overpriced lamb shanks, and a big box of 20,000 calories.
For me, however, what resonates on this Hallmark-created holiday is a romantic nine-letter word that’s easy to say, and for some men, hard to do. I’m talking about choreplay.
Choreplay involves completing household tasks in return for something men have wanted since the day they turned 13. Is it a controversial concept? Yes. Do I care? Not really. What matters to me is making my list of things to do that everyone else in the house ignores shorter.
Image compliments of Health magazine because, you know, a husband who vacuums under the sofa is good for your heart.
Like laundry. Recently, I conducted an unofficial survey of full and part-time domestic goddesses, and discovered that we aren’t supposed to match socks. Ever. Domestic goddesses take conference calls, lounge around the house in togas, watch really bad reality T.V., close some deals, and then forget to pick up the kids at school. Since I absolutely hate absorbent footwear, doing laundry would be a great place to start.
Nothing says “love you sweetie” like blowing off poker night to match the 200 socks I found under our daughter’s bed.
Also, that stand-up thingy that we bathe in is neither a wading pool nor a medieval moat designed to keep the neighbors out of our yard. It’s a shower, and as much as I like to pretend the water that pools around my ankles every time I use it is a series of waves lapping my feet in Bora Bora, it’s not landing.
A shower that doubles as a watering trough for the horse we don’t own is =(.
And another thing. Crap at the bottom of the stairs goes up. Crap at the top of the stairs goes down. Repeat. Crap at the bottom of the stairs goes up. Crap at the top of the stairs goes down. It’s impressive that you can long jump 20 feet in an attempt to avoid what you don’t want to see. Yet if we’re really gonna celebrate Valentine’s Day, delivering that pile of laundry that no one wants to fold to one of the kids’ rooms that no one wants to clean would be super.
Those aren’t my stairs. OK maybe they are my stairs but that’s not my crap or my Crocs.
If we can agree on the execution of the choreplay that works for me, I don’t care if Valentine’s Day consists of a half dead bunch of carnations and Doordash-delivered Moons Over My Hammy for dinner. I’ll be happy to focus on the things I’d have to write about under an alias in a different kind of blog. Just please, walk the dog and hang up some towels on the way to our room. ♥
READING BETWEEN THE PINES 
Fantastic read! Thanks!
I loved this. Genuine laugh out loud moments! 😊
Lol!!!! Duely noted!