How many times? It's one sugar in my tea, and two in my coffee
Your weekend begins just as normal: after a week of hard graft, you get home, shut the door, heave a sigh of relief, and then look at the sorry state your house is in. The fridge is empty, the lounge looks like a bomb's hit it and your ironing pile is getting so high it's about to topple over.
You: "We really need to clean the kitchen/do the shopping/ tidy up."
Him: Silence, followed by a click as the telly goes on.
> How not to react
You block his view of the TV with the laundry basket, nag him to help you, bang pots and pans about in the kitchen as you put them away, hoover up when the footie comes on, and when none of it works, resort to shouting "Would it hurt to lift a finger to help me clean this hovel?!". He lifts an eyebrow and takes one eye off the screen: "What are you doing all that now for? Can't it wait?". This only makes you seethe even more, and you start throwing plates around while you reel off the list of all that you do (everything) and all that he does (nothing) in the house. A slanging match ensues, and you find yourself coming out with clichés like "I'm not your housekeeper/mother/slave" and "What did your last servant die of?" Plus it gets you nowhere.