Sunday Newscape Magazine

I believe there comes a time in every married woman’s life when she looks at her husband and says, “Did I shave my legs for this?”

Not every woman will say this out loud. Maybe she’s a kind-hearted soul.  Or maybe she’s a newlywed.

I was newly married myself the first time I heard about the five-second rule for food. I guess I’d led a sheltered existence until I got married. Then I watched my husband eat a cookie he’d just dropped on the floor.

“What?” he mumbled as he chewed, surprised at my horrified expression. “Don’t you know about the five-second rule?”

If you’re not quite as civilized as I was (or if you are male), you’re probably already familiar with this rule. It says it is OK to eat food dropped on the floor as long as you pick it up within five seconds.

If you are a refined woman who would never think of eating food that has touched the floor, you are likely sputtering at such idiocy. Believe me, sister, I feel your pain. How could anyone actually believe germs will politely wait five seconds before attaching themselves to fallen food?

But that was just the beginning of my disillusionment. As our marriage progressed, I began to notice a disturbing trend.  When we were first married, my man was thoughtful about replacing an empty roll of toilet paper if he was the one who finished it. But familiarity, as the old saying goes, breeds contempt, and contempt apparently breeds laziness.  After a while, the roll remained unchanged. And my husband would vigorously deny any responsibility. He’d actually point to the bedraggled bits of paper still left on the roll as evidence that it was not yet empty.

“Whoever uses up the very last square has to change it,” he’d say adamantly.

You’d think that would be enough to cause me to stop shaving and go natural. But somehow, I kept it up until recently, when I couldn’t find my favorite kitchen knife.  As anyone who likes to cook can tell you, a good knife is a thing to be treasured, a pearl of great price (or slice).  A good knife should stay safely in the kitchen.  A good knife should never touch the bottom of someone’s feet.

And yet, that’s what happened to my good knife.  When I realized it was missing, I looked high and low. I couldn’t find it in the kitchen. I couldn’t find it in the living room.  Then I heard a faint, scraping sound coming from the bedroom. There was my man sitting on the bed, using the back of my beloved knife to scratch his feet.

“What?”he asked, again seeming surprised at my horror. “My feet were really itchy.“

You will undoubtedly admire my self-control in this situation.  Although I was tempted, I did not use the sharp side of the knife on other parts of his body. I merely returned it to the kitchen and gave it a good scrubbing. And then I threw away my razor.

© Jackie Papandrew, All Rights Reserved www.jackiepapandrew.com.