The Dilemma of the Dirt Threshold
On a lighter note, there was an interesting article in the Style section this weekend (I don't know why they don't just call it the Life section, since it's rarely about style, but whatever) about the ongoing issue of the division of domestic labor.
This is such an interesting issue for me because I live in one of the presumably rare households in which the typical gender roles are reversed. My husband is a very clean man. He does far more of the household chores than I do. In fact, since we moved in together I have not cleaned a bathroom once. Not once. This is not to say that I am a big slob, although I have been known to let things slide a little longer than they probably should. Rather, it is simply that my dirt threshold is higher than David's.
The dirt threshold is the point at which you can't stand it anymore and get up off the couch and start cleaning. For me, as long as no one is coming over, the dirt threshold is relatively high. I need external motivation to clean; so, there usually has to be a sight or smell that grosses me out or otherwise makes me uncomfortable in order to motivate me to do it.
Living with David has been great, like having my own personal maid. I get to live in a clean house and only rarely do I do much of the work. I try to do my part, I really do. But the dirt threshold is a stubborn thing; until it is reached, other things inevitably seem much more important than cleaning. Of course, this has been a point of tension between us, one of maybe three issues that we have with each other. I have tried to explain the concept of the dirt threshold to David, and while intellectually he gets it, I know it still galls him that he does more of the household chores than I do.
And it's not like he can really ask for help. I get very defensive and stubborn at anything that smacks of being what to do and when to do it.
Honestly, I blame all of my issues with cleaning on my mother, also known as Susie Spotless. See, she was very meticulous about having a clean house. At various times during my childhood she tried to get me to do chores, but then she criticized how well or how quickly I did them. Plus we didn't have a great relationship on other fronts, either, when I was living at home. So I got a little surly about housework.
In truth, though, I can honestly say that I don't hate cleaning. That may be most people's reason for not doing much of it, but it's not mine. I actually enjoy cleaning; I like the feeling of virtuousness and accomplishment that comes with it. As I've gotten older and started taking more pride in my surroundings (let's face it, it's hard to find a reason to keep your college apartment spotless), I've found that being clean is more important to me now than it used to be.
But while my dirt threshold may be lower than it once was, it's still higher than David's. As it was higher than that of my long-term boyfriend I was with in law school. But my first year in college, my dirt threshold was lower than that of my female roommate, who was a certifiable slob. She had a ferret that was not descented and I'm not sure how often she cleaned its cage. It was all I could do not to puke when I passed her bedroom on the way to take a shower in the morning. And don't get me started on the food and dirty dishes she would leave in the sink ... it nauseates me to think of it to this day.
To be fair to the Times article, I guess cleaning is a gender issue in a broad statistical sense. Certainly a visit to various public restrooms, bachelor pads, and college dormitories would seem to confirm as much. But the traditional "women are cleaner than men" split has not had particular relevance to my life. Rather, it's the dilemma of the dirt threshold that continues to bedevil me. Because I don't find cleaning to be a moral issue (nothwithstanding my comment on virtuousness above), the difficulty is that neither David nor I are wrong to have the dirt thresholds that we do. The question is how to reach a compromise that accommodates us both.
This is such an interesting issue for me because I live in one of the presumably rare households in which the typical gender roles are reversed. My husband is a very clean man. He does far more of the household chores than I do. In fact, since we moved in together I have not cleaned a bathroom once. Not once. This is not to say that I am a big slob, although I have been known to let things slide a little longer than they probably should. Rather, it is simply that my dirt threshold is higher than David's.
The dirt threshold is the point at which you can't stand it anymore and get up off the couch and start cleaning. For me, as long as no one is coming over, the dirt threshold is relatively high. I need external motivation to clean; so, there usually has to be a sight or smell that grosses me out or otherwise makes me uncomfortable in order to motivate me to do it.
Living with David has been great, like having my own personal maid. I get to live in a clean house and only rarely do I do much of the work. I try to do my part, I really do. But the dirt threshold is a stubborn thing; until it is reached, other things inevitably seem much more important than cleaning. Of course, this has been a point of tension between us, one of maybe three issues that we have with each other. I have tried to explain the concept of the dirt threshold to David, and while intellectually he gets it, I know it still galls him that he does more of the household chores than I do.
And it's not like he can really ask for help. I get very defensive and stubborn at anything that smacks of being what to do and when to do it.
Honestly, I blame all of my issues with cleaning on my mother, also known as Susie Spotless. See, she was very meticulous about having a clean house. At various times during my childhood she tried to get me to do chores, but then she criticized how well or how quickly I did them. Plus we didn't have a great relationship on other fronts, either, when I was living at home. So I got a little surly about housework.
In truth, though, I can honestly say that I don't hate cleaning. That may be most people's reason for not doing much of it, but it's not mine. I actually enjoy cleaning; I like the feeling of virtuousness and accomplishment that comes with it. As I've gotten older and started taking more pride in my surroundings (let's face it, it's hard to find a reason to keep your college apartment spotless), I've found that being clean is more important to me now than it used to be.
But while my dirt threshold may be lower than it once was, it's still higher than David's. As it was higher than that of my long-term boyfriend I was with in law school. But my first year in college, my dirt threshold was lower than that of my female roommate, who was a certifiable slob. She had a ferret that was not descented and I'm not sure how often she cleaned its cage. It was all I could do not to puke when I passed her bedroom on the way to take a shower in the morning. And don't get me started on the food and dirty dishes she would leave in the sink ... it nauseates me to think of it to this day.
To be fair to the Times article, I guess cleaning is a gender issue in a broad statistical sense. Certainly a visit to various public restrooms, bachelor pads, and college dormitories would seem to confirm as much. But the traditional "women are cleaner than men" split has not had particular relevance to my life. Rather, it's the dilemma of the dirt threshold that continues to bedevil me. Because I don't find cleaning to be a moral issue (nothwithstanding my comment on virtuousness above), the difficulty is that neither David nor I are wrong to have the dirt thresholds that we do. The question is how to reach a compromise that accommodates us both.
posted by Sandi | 8:01 AM
2 Comments:
My mother lusts after vacuum cleaners the way some people do the latest, coolest tv. For as long as I can remember, she's been on a grail-like quest for the Right vacuum. When I was a kid and disposable income was slight, she had to stick to the ol' entry level Eureka. But periodically she just had to go borrow her mother's Kirby or Electrolux, to really do the job right. (My grandmother owned both a Kirby and an Electrolux. As I understand it, this is either an outlandish extravagance or a faux-pas, I could never tell which; all I know is mom's fellow vacuum cleaner connoisseurs, when she told them about it, usually had to sit down. Personally, I always favored the Kirby, because it had headlights and made a much cooler, more baritone noise.)
As her children got older and the household budget got a bit more breathing room, she started moving upscale. First, as I recall, was an Electrolux, which had something of the same aura as the Ark of the Covenant. By the time that grew old, new players had displaced Kirby, the way Sharp and Philips displaced RCA in the tv market. She jumped to an Oreck. Then to something I can't remember.
Now she sports about the house with an entry-level Rainbow, which uses real fluids to clean your carpets, not just vacuum them. One of these days she's going to turn up on HGTV, hosting "Pimp My Vacuum," with her Rainbow tricked out with lots of chrome and 18" gold rims.
I can see your mom, Juvenal, with a tricked out vacuum. Made my day, that mental image.
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