I stared at that toilet for a full ten minutes. It desperately needed cleaning, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it. The thing is, it’s not my toilet. I use it often and clean it regularly, but it’s in the bathroom at his apartment, not mine. I shouldn’t have to be the only one who cleans it. And yet…
I’m in service to him. I like doing things for him around the house, love to hear that exclamation of surprise and gratitude when he notices. None of it is expected or required. I don’t have set chores or tasks to do for him, I simply do what I feel like, which ends up being a fair amount. And part of why I love him is that he sees it- sees me– and makes sure I know it. So why couldn’t I just clean the damn toilet?
He had a date that night, and I didn’t want my metamour to have to use a grungy commode. But I was annoyed. I knew I was the only person who had cleaned the toilet in months, and I wondered what would happen if I didn’t do it. Would it get done, or had this somehow become fully my responsibility? I stared at the dirty ring as minute after minute ticked away and finally forced myself to walk out the door without picking up the brush.
The next day I was back, curiosity burning a hole in my brain. And there it was, a clean bowl. Why was my heart sinking? Why was I angry? The fucking toilet was clean, isn’t that what I wanted? Why wasn’t I happy?
And that’s when it hit me. The toilet bowl was an apt metaphor for the state of our relationship. It was getting maintained- barely- at the minimum acceptable level, but most of the cleaning and maintenance work was being done by me. What he was contributing wasn’t really for me. I benefited from it, yes, but he wasn’t doing anything to show me I warranted the effort on my own. So I told him I was glad the toilet was clean, but that it would be nice if he would sometimes clean it for me since I’m the person who has to sit my ass down on it the most often. I added:
“You’re always thanking me for the little things I do for you and remarking on a daily basis how I make your life better…when was the last time I thanked you for something you did?”
Silence. Horrified realization dawning across his face.
“It’s not because I’m an ungrateful or unobservant person. It’s because you haven’t done much of that lately. I feel like I give you a lot of grace and am pretty understanding, but I can’t keep being the only person cleaning the toilet for us.”
To his credit, the next day he did the metaphorical equivalent of showing up with bags full of cleaning supplies and scrub brushes. The bathroom has been spotless for months, and I can’t remember who cleaned it last.
The moral of this story is do your fair share of chores and don’t forget to clean the toilet- it’s how the shit exits your life.