THE LAST STRAW/Frank McNally: I suffered a panic attack during the week when a headline appeared in this newspaper saying: "How to make your man love housework.
I suffered a panic attack during the week when a headline appeared in this newspaper saying: "How to make your man love housework. " Turning to page 13, as advised, I wondered nervously if there had been some dramatic development in the area - an EU directive, or a drug treatment that, in tests, turned laboratory rats into compulsive cleaners. And it was with a mixture of relief and guilt that I discovered the article concerned a new book on the subject by a feminist, the keynote of which was despair.
Don't get me wrong. The principle that men should do their fair share of housework is one that many of us in the male community cherish, and we remain committed to reaching the UN interim target by 2015, resources permitting. But there's no denying that the average male has a problem even discussing the subject. Indeed, the three most common complaints of women are that (a) men switch off at the mere mention of it, and (b) I can't remember the other two.
Cornered on the issue of our alleged indifference to domestic hygiene, for example, many of us will resort to avoidance tactics, using anything from self- deprecation to cheap flattery. Or both, as in this typical example: "What you have to understand about men, darling, is that we have don't have women's high standards. Except when choosing a life partner, of course." (Amazingly enough, this can sometimes buy you time.)
Time is what the aforementioned book is mainly about. One of its surprises is that, even in this liberated age, studies suggest husbands create eight hours extra work every week for their wives. I was puzzling over this statistic on Wednesday while ironing my shirts and making dinner, and I could only explain it in these terms: this must be the amount of time women spend trying to improve us.
A big dilemma for the female population is that, left to ourselves, men can endure living standards a lot lower than those recommended by the World Health Organisation. Yes, most of us are reared, and end up, in comfortable homes created by women. But there's usually a period in between - years, or even decades - when we will occupy accommodation that has all the comfort (and often the smell) of an Antarctic whaling station. It's a bit like national service, from which we return to civilian life, via marriage, permanently shaped.
In her feature about the book, Victoria White recalled "braving" the house her soon-to-be husband had been occupying for months. I'm sure many male readers will have felt the same pride I did in the (sadly unspecified) home-making skills of our comrade, which caused Victoria to flee, "clutching my hand-made wedding dress to my breast like a child rescued from a burning building".
By contrast, visiting a female habitat during his wilderness years, a man may be impressed by the little details: clean bathroom towels, the lack of mice, etc. But it doesn't engage him on an intellectual level, and there's certainly no hint at this stage of the 92 hours a week it takes to maintain such comfort. Only later in a relationship does a woman start negotiating a fair division of work. And before this is achieved, other things often intervene - typically divorce, or death from old age, according to the new book.
A popular male argument when women speak of "the housework" is that this is a loaded term, since what constitutes essential work (as opposed to female hygiene fetishes which need to be understood but not necessarily encouraged) is defined by them alone.
For example, I was discussing the subject of floor-washing this week with a woman who asked to be nameless, as she handed me our two-year-old son to change, and she argued despairingly: "You'd notice if it wasn't done." Her secret fear, which I don't even have to play on any more, is that cockroaches might notice it first.
On the other hand, a common grievance of men is that women want to share the work while retaining a complete control over the domestic environment that causes men to go about their homes feeling like Palestinians in Israeli-occupied territory. Another male complaint is that, in home care as in their choice of clothes, women are seeking the approval of other women, not men. Burglary would be an even bigger worry for women, I believe, if those breaking into our homes unexpectedly were female.
Having said all that, there was much truth in Victoria's assertion that men will never enjoy housework "until they feel they can star at it". My own wife went further, suggesting that if cleaning had a "competitive" element, I'd spend hours practising. I told her to stop exaggerating as I finished changing the baby, in a new personal best of 81.4 seconds.
fmcnally@irish-times.ie