The Husband Who Thought Housework Was a Points-Gaining System, and the Wife Who Thought It Was a Points-Deduction System

The scoring system seems wrong. There is a huge gap between how husbands and wives view housework.

For a long time, I felt like I was standing in front of a small ping-pong table called 'daily life,' keeping up a modest rally. Put water in the ice tray. Ping-pong, one point. Change the dogs' pee pads. Ping-pong, one point. Refill the dish soap. Ping-pong, one point. Keep track of trash days, and confirm in the back of my mind the night before, 'Oh, tomorrow is burnable trash day.' That, too, is a solid point.

It's not a flashy play. It's not a smash, nor is it the kind of moment where the commentators would groan, 'That's brilliant.'

Ice doesn't just appear in the freezer on its own. If you stare at an empty soap container and pray for it to fill up, you'll only get bubbles. If I neglect to change the pee pads, the floor mat becomes the toilet. I am a fairly steady defensive player who secretly prevents these nameless crises every day.

However, one night, it seems I left some door open somewhere. Whether it was a cabinet or the kitchen, I can't even identify the crime scene anymore. But my wife's voice flew at me clearly.

'Oh, come on, it's open again!'

......At that moment, I lost 15 points.

I thought we were playing ping-pong, but on my wife's court, a tennis match had begun. While I was desperately scoring one point at a time, my point deductions were increasing by '15,' '30,' and '40.' If I happened to fall asleep without turning off the lights, it was game over. And to top it off, the umpire was my wife. There's no way I could win.

I realized the unfairness of this scoring system after observing that my wife and I treated 'I'll do it later' completely differently. When I got home, my wife was watching YouTube, and there were dishes left in the sink. I said I would wash the dishes because I wanted to cook dinner.

'I was going to do it later.'

While thinking, 'Wouldn't a

thank you
be better?', I finished washing the sink, made dinner, and when I said, 'Let's eat!', my wife went to check the kitchen.
'When are you going to wipe the stove?'
'I'll do it later.'
'Later, when?'
'After I finish eating.'

'Do it right now!'

'......'

Even though it's the same 'I'll do it later,' when my wife says it, it's a forward-looking plan, but when I say it, it becomes an unsolved case. It's true that I have a criminal record. I often perform a high-level, two-stage disappearance magic trick where I forget what I intended to do later, and then forget that I even forgot it. I understand my wife's suspicion, but if I wipe a stove that I just turned off, my skin would be the sacrifice before any domestic peace.

In the first place, I actually do quite a lot.

If you notice the ice tray is empty after it's already empty, it's too late. The dogs tell me the pee pads need changing with their silent pressure. If the dish soap runs out, the whole kitchen is wrapped in a sense of defeat. If I forget trash day, the trash can immediately becomes a packed commuter train, and the dogs start rummaging through the contents like they're selling snacks on board.

If I were to proudly report every time, 'I put water in the ice tray today,' that would be like a summer vacation picture diary. As an adult man, announcing such small achievements is a bit embarrassing.
More than that, reporting is dangerous. If I say with a slightly smug face, 'I put water in the ice tray,' a switch flips inside my wife.
'Did you clean it before you put water in?'

'No.'

'Why not? When was the last time you cleaned it?'

The 'why' that occurs in the house is usually a landmine. If I were to argue, 'I don't want to be told that by someone who never refills the water,' the footage of my past twenty years of misconduct would be played back like a VAR review. From yesterday's 'leaving the ventilation fan on' incident to the 'attempted barley tea refill' incident from before we were married, which I thought had long since passed the statute of limitations, everything is stored in the warehouse of my wife's memory with desiccant.

To prevent every incident from being presented with the freshness of yesterday's events, I stay silent. I silently put water in the ice tray and silently go out for a walk with the dogs. Not saying anything is the aesthetic of a man.

However, if I stay silent, the points I've gained aren't recorded. A state where there is ice is normal, and a state where the toilet is clean is also normal. Normal is the result of someone noticing and fixing things first, but as long as it's normal, no one notices. This is quite a cruel mechanism.

In housework, the burden begins the moment you notice it, even more than the work itself.

However, deductions stand out excessively.

A door is open. Socks are inside out. Hair has fallen in the washroom. Those things jump to the center of the household like the lead in a musical and bathe in the spotlight. And then, the voice 'Fifteen-Love' flies from my wife's court.
From my perspective, I think, 'Don't just look at that,' but from my wife's perspective, it's probably, 'Close that, will you?' In the end, it's because we are looking at different things.

I think I am crushing future troubles.

My wife thinks she is correcting the disorder right in front of her.

Both are housework. It's just that my housework disappears before it happens, and my wife's housework catches the eye after it happens. That's why my points are transparent, and my wife's deductions resonate loudly.

That night, my wife opened the refrigerator. I heard the cool sound of ice clinking in a glass while I sat on the sofa. I, of course, didn't say, 'Who do you think made that ice?' If I said something like that, an international conflict called the 'Ice Tray Cleaning Problem' would begin. I can't carry the weight of world peace, but as a husband, I want to protect at least the peace around the kitchen.

So, right after I whispered to myself in my heart, 'Okay, one point,'...

'Oh, come on, the door is open again!'

Before the lingering sound of the clinking ice could fade, the score moved all at once. It seems I had forgotten to close some door again. I almost said, 'I'll do it later,' but I managed to hold it back.My view on housework has changed, but my survival strategy remains the same.