Past research has shown that among heterosexuals, cohabiting couples divvy up chores, but then fall into more traditional roles once they marry. Says Rothblum, "There is something about the institution of heterosexual marriage that encourages the pattern."
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Ah, the pattern.
It's a powerful thing, the pattern. So powerful that even those who take steps to engineer new and better methods find themselves falling back into the pattern - like light into a singularity - when they relax.
Yes. It happens.
For example.
My mother, who's quite a smart person (thank the maker - having a dumb mom would have been...a problem) made a conscious decision one day while tiny D was in the backyard chasing Terry, our brilliant Border Collie, around a rose bush that her son wasn't going to be a jackass who sat on the couch eating cheesy poofs while his hapless mate scurried about keeping everything going.
So in she called me (and a good thing too since Terry was tiring of pretending to be scared and was no doubt getting ready to pull one of her signature canine luchador wrestling moves) put a pan in my hand, got some eggs from the fridge and taught me how to scramble them.
It was a good start because I loved scrambled eggs and was always down to nosh on a plate of them day or night. Later came laundry, mopping, dusting and more advanced kitchen skills.
By the time I hit undergrad I was the only bloke in my circle who knew how to go to the market, pick up some real food items, cook it all up and clean after myself. Pizza and take out Thai were rare treats, not necessities.
Mission accomplished madre; it was an honor to serve under your command.
But here we are, in the tense present and my mom calls while I'm washing dishes.
Mom: Hey, what'ya doing?
Monroe: Ummm, washing dishes while putting the finishing touches on my time travelling robot powered by the sweet breath of new born kittens. Bow down before its temporally commanding yet oh so cute might puny humans.
Mom: Ha! You always were a silly child. Well, uh, why are you washing dishes? Where's my daughter-in-law?
And it's at this moment that I wonder what the hell's going on. Didn't this very woman train me to not sit on my ass waiting for my lovely wife to wash dishes while I tinkered with TimeBot The Unmaker? Wasn't I, by getting off aforementioned ass and cleaning the house doing what I'm supposed to do?
Of course, I ask mom this very question.
Mom: Ummm, hmmm. I don't know why I asked you that.
Which leads me to conclude that sinister, dare I say 'patterned' forces are at work.
.d.