June 19, 2003
   
 

The Great Deception
 
 
 
I don’t watch that much tv these days- well, ok, that’s totally a lie, but I have stopped watching network tv. These days I mostly switch between the Discovery Channel, PBS and the Canadian channel that’s all the way at the end of the dial and sometimes broadcasts operas. But I don’t really watch these days. I sit in front of the tv with my head down, or across the room at my computer and listen as they tell me what’s so special about the feet of the mountain goat that make it possible for them to climb cliffs that no predator can scale, how to build catapults and siege engines, how storms build into tri-state disasters and how the world would be destroyed if the comets get to close.  
 
 
 
But the thing is, I’ve started to pay more attention to commercials- first because I was playing the “name that demographic” game- noticing that the shows about construction and motorcycles also tended to be the ones that had commercials that focused on disability insurance, the animal shows have an abundance of pet food commercials, and shows on redecorating tend to have commercials focused on (surprise!) paints and cleaning supplies. 
 
 
 

Looking, though, I am disturbed. Because the commercials are telling me that marriage is deceit
 
 
 
It’s dishwashing liquids that are the real culprit here. As much as I abhor the ads that tell me I am unloved until someone buys me diamonds, it is the dishwashing liquids that are really getting on my nerves. Because dishwashing is so subversive.
 
 
 
You’ve seen these ads, right? The woman, knowing that she has a secret weapon in her dishwashing arsenal, perpetuates the myth that dishwashing is onerous so that her husband is compelled to do actual work! Around the house! So to avoid the dishes- which are no problem to clean, really, thanks to the magic of advertising. 
 
 
 
And everyone feels better because they think (in the husband’s case) or know (the wife) that they’ve gotten one over on the other person.  
 
 
 

And I think, if this is what relationships are like, no wonder I have trouble finding my voice to speak when something troubles me about my life with my boyfriend.
 
 
 
I am tired of being told that a husband isn’t to be counted on around the house. I’m tired of a culture that warns me that he’s going to sneak out to play golf the moment my back is turned. I’m tired of being told that he won’t remember our anniversary, that he’ll disapprove of my expenditures, that he won’t remember to do anything I’ve asked him to do.
 
 
 
And I’m not married, I don’t plan on getting married, he doesn’t play golf, we both hate washing dishes, I’m worse with remembering dates than he is, we have separate bank accounts and I don’t remember the last time he wasn’t there when I needed him. 
 
 

But I still hate to admit to him how much I spend on stuff, even though I’m not the one in debt. Even though, besides rent, utilities and food, we are not accountable to one another financially.

 
 
I think I’m in a trap, a trap made of dishwashing liquid, a trap that tells me that honesty and open work means having to do more work around the house, more work at making the relationship, well, a relationship, when all you have to do to get by is keep your head down and keep looking busy while the other person (blissfully unaware) carries the load.
   
 

I did enough of that at work, thank you, to take it home with me.
   
   
   
  consider me a widow, boys, and I will tell you why...
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
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