Oh No He Din’Int’

I just asked a man the question, “If you had three wishes, what would they be?” His response was:

(1) “Peace for the rest of my life” – Okay, vague answer but fine if you’re just responding with the first thing that comes to mind.

(2) “Peace in the world” – Okay, generic answer but fine if you’re running for Miss America.

And number (3)
“My coffee made for me every morning with the paper brought to me.”

Excuse me?

Yeah, you are going to need a genie for that shit. Or your dog better know how to work a french press. Yes, I know it’s a simple request; one that is totally doable. It’s something I would completely do on my own accord for someone I cared for but it’s going to be by My Choice whether or not that happens on any given morning. And he wants it every. fucking. morning? Yeah, right. I know he’s a firefighter and all, saving lives and shit, and he’s got a body that deems him to be Mr. February but simply…I don’t think so.

You walk into my house and all post-9/11 social hierarchy goes out the window. Again, I know this sounds petty but if you read between the lines, I think we can see some antediluvian expectations about male and female roles in the home (twice in one day, it’s all for you elbee). Obviously this is not a lesson he’s had to learn yet but he needs to recognize he’s competing with boys who cook and clean and sew…and are fit…and are smart…and are saving lives in the ER. I’ve been accused of being picky and I used to deny it. I’m happy to embrace it now. You don’t get to be me and not have the earned right to be picky. Mother fucker, please.

— Ballyhoo Backcaster