pink jobs and blue jobs

In the days before fate (and Anniemay’s mate) brought us together, I lived on my own.  As did she.  

We were both working and had learned to manage a household as well as a job.  When we got together, some of the things we’d had to deal with alone, were shared or devolved.  Albeit in a fairly ad hoc manner. When we both retired, AM decided to formalise all the household tasks into ‘pink jobs’ and ‘blue jobs’.

For example, I ended up doing most of the cooking (blue job). She let me know early on in our relationship that she was impressed by my skill with a wok. We’d settled into a comfortable Friday night routine in which she’d sit on the kitchen counter, glass of chilled white wine in hand - recounting all the monstrous things that the 4th form had been up to - while I made a stir fry.  So I easily passed that test.  But one thing I was not entrusted with, was the laundry (pink job).  

I don’t know why this should be.  Having grown up as a Mod and therefore ‘clothes conscious’ - I also had a job where on some occasions I would have to wear a suit.  So a washing machine and an iron held no fears for me.  Although I’d never had to iron a blouse before.  Let alone wash one. I do concede though, that if folding clothes was an Olympic sport, she’d win Gold.

I don’t want to give the impression from my photo, that blue jobs are bigger or more important than pink jobs - they are equally challenging.  This past fortnight I’ve had to deal with both again - admittedly with supervision - a helpful crutch pointing out where I'd gone wrong with some task or other.  

Carrying a basket full of laundry upstairs almost did for me. I’d forgotten how physically hard it all is. Not to mention time consuming.  Needing - at the very least - a sit down (possibly coffee as well) before moving on to the next task.  It’s a timely reminder of what’s ahead when she has the other knee done.