Looking back, I’m actually astonished my mother cooked and cleaned for days, and my father’s only task was to dress himself, something he did daily. This frightens me. When I get married, I don’t care who makes the bacon, we’re both making the goddamn bacon-wrapped shrimp with rosemary and stilton hors d’oeuvres for our guests. I cannot stand men who watch football while the women load the dishwasher. What the fcuk is that? We all eat; we’ve all got a sudden case of food coma and want to lie down. And the men do. They recline and watch television while the women scrape plates and make coffee. I’m sorry, never ever happening in my house. And while that sounds repulsive to every man out there, simply put: I. Don’t. Give. A. McFuck. I might not know it all, but I know I’d rather stay single than be married to a man who watches me slave and insists I enjoy it… unless we’re in bed. Then it’s welcome.
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