I am now experiencing a reoccurring nightmare. This nightmare stars my wife, who in the nightmare, has grown to like (make that enjoy); my new role.
Prepare and deliver to her, three meals per day.
Deliver two snacks per day.
Make sure we do not run out of Cheetos and Pepsi.
Make her toast following instructions and specifications more detailed than the engineering plans for the hydrogen bomb.
Do the dishes after each meal,
Do the wash.
Do my own ironing.
Fold the laundrey and put it where it belongs.
Do the shopping. Be aware of and use all coupons.
Answer all telephone calls.
Restock the bathrooms with toilet paper.
Anticipate the need for food items prior to actually needing them.
Plan the night meal earlier enough to take what is needed out of the freezer to thaw.
Carry the walker up and down the stairs each time she goes up and down the stairs.
Find things that she has placed in a cabinet, pantry, in a box, or on a shelf.
Sort the mail, throw out the crap, and give her the bills. This I gladly do. I don't ever want to know what things cost, and how much we spend.
Egads, I'm not made of the same stuff she is. Few men could do the day to day work that their wife does. Heal baby heal!