Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, November 17, 1993 TAG: 9311190371
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ben Beagle
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
As many of you will recall, the bishops recently proposed a plan for making husbands and wives more equal - emotionally and practically.
As I understand it, men are supposed to be willing to cry in front of their wives and help with such things as bathroom cleaning and the laundry - to mention just a few domestic chores.
I'll tell the bishops now that as far as crying is concerned, I set the modern standard for this behavior when I ruined my knee doing the kitchen floor in the spring of 1983. I not only cried in front of my wife, I cried also in the company of our youngest daughter. Hey. The neighbors heard me.
I now cry all the time. Honest. The kids call me ``The Really Big Cry-Baby.''
(I always wanted to ruin my knee on the playing fields of Radford and be carried off as cheerleaders threw roses and kisses. But let that go.)
Let's move right along here to the somewhat sensitive matter of cleaning bathrooms. I have done this expertly since I was in the Army. I am so good at it that I get calls from all over the country asking my advice on soap scum removal and other problems.
I'm one of those smash-mouth bathroom scrubbers who will clean the inside of the commode without a brush.
You are not dealing with a pantywaist of a dilettante here.
I've never seen the tub I couldn't clean or the mildew I couldn't destroy. Hard-water stains disappear when they hear me coming.
Actually, bathroom cleaning isn't the drudgery it once was. Nowadays we have all of these things you just squirt on and wipe off. Scum and mildew, as they say in the commercials, don't stand a chance. Sure, Your Graces. That's the way it goes, all right.
You could say I'm a little chauvinistic when it comes to doing the laundry - or the washing as we used to say in Radford. I simply don't like to do laundry. This is not macho disdain for clean underwear.
The reason is that I lack the technological skills to do modern laundry. Washers and dryers make me nervous. I get the same feeling around those bank machines you get money out of and those speakers you have to talk into at fast- food places.
I'll wash all day in a galvanized tub with a scrub board and a cake of grandmother's lye soap. I'll wring `em out by hand and hang `em up in weather so cold the T-shirts will be stiff as boards by the time I get the clothespins set.
But I panic every time I look at the controls on the washer and dryer. Looks like the instrument panel on a space shuttle. Sometimes, I sneak down into the basement and pretend I'm doing the washing, but this doesn't do much by way of reinforcement.
We've scarcely covered all of my housekeeping skills - which include superb window washing and bookcase dusting.
If the good bishops want any more information, they can contact me.
Did I mention that I'm hell with a vacuum cleaner?
by CNB