Feminism versus My Boyfriend

I only just got my first boyfriend. Aaaaw, teenage sweetheart love, you may think to yourself, but no, I'm 26, which I presume makes me insanely picky, or maybe just a freak. What can I say? I'm a big softy romantic freak in that case.

Suddenly having a boyfriend actually introduces changes into your life, and I am not talking about the obvious ones, like waking up to a smelly man every morning and having no say in who gets the biggest cupcake, but rather the traditional clichés you thought was only a remnant of male chauvinism. I have this old antique cabinet I got from my grandmother when she got so old she basically returned to a teenager status and was no longer allowed to live on her own, and for the last five years one of the lower cabinet doors has been completely fucked up, it probably lost a screw back in 1955 and has been hanging all crooked, like a depressed, self-cutting emo, every time it's been opened. Now, one of the first things my boyfriend did after noticing this, was smelling down the nearest hammer in my place, I swear to gods I didn't even know I had one, and going at it, like his life depended on it. Now the door actually shuts completely, no longer spilling out my scary personal stuff to strangers visiting, because let's face it, good things gets put on display, bad stuff is hid in cabinets and drawers.

I've also had this kitchen light that hasn't been working since I moved in here, basically because I stuffed a light tube up there once and no lights came on, so therefore it was deemed broken. I came to terms with being only a meere mortal and lived like a goth for a while, but along comes mr. manly man and pops the tube in place, voila, there is light. I vaguely remember throwing myself around his neck for a second before my strict equality of the sexes-upbringing whipped me back into a couldn't care less-throwing of one shoulder and a thank you.

I must admit I sort of worship my boyfriend in an unhealthy Waco-way after all this magic. I suddenly grasp the fantasy many women have about handymen and men in general wearing tool belts, it's like a sick prehistorical instict telling us "this is the way to things around the house actually working!". Sure, I could have managed to fix it myself, but to me it seems like such a pain in the arse to have to do, something so invisible that I can't brag about it to others. I can spend hours finding the right curtain for a room, but putting in a nail where it's needed is just excessive work. I'll be the first to say it; WOMEN!

Feminists never tell you this, but when you're sick or just really tired, the man will actually hoover the carpet for you, and go to the shop to get your candy for you...it's like some sweet, grown up surprise, like sex was when you were a teenager. We've been had!