STRANGER THAN FICTION: HOUSEWORK PROVIDES CHANCE FOR EQUAL OPPORTUNITY EMPLOYMENT

Experts say women spend about 14 hours a week more doing household chores than men, and that doesn't count child care. Simple statement, sure, but it doesn't really tell the whole story.

Guys, I think it's time you realize exactly what the females in your life do for you. You know those furry little creatures that share your home? The things you call pets? The reason they aren't walking around with visible ribs and horrible diseases is because your wife or significant other took the time to feed little Muffykins and take her to the vet.

And you know those green, leafy things that add so much to the room? The woman in your life is the one trimming and watering them. Left to you, they'd be shriveled, brown sticks crowding various corners and tabletops.

And you know the way you can see the bottom of your sink every so often, because there aren't any food-encrusted plates sitting down there? Yep, the woman again.

Guess what? Housework is equal opportunity employment in its purest form. The man and the wife should be splitting it 50-50. If that were the case, I'd come home, pop open a soft drink, prop my feet up on the coffee table and think about how great my house is.

At least, that's what I imagine The Other Half does. Instead, I come home and start warming up for the fight when HE comes home.

One of our favorite topics: The cat litter box. It doesn't dump itself. It smells pretty gamey when ignored for a few days. Our two little darlings could be doing their business in Mr. Half's shoes and he probably wouldn't notice.

So I come home Monday night after begging him to dump the cat litter Monday morning. PLEADING with him. And there it is, staring me in the face. "I was going to do it when I came home," he explained later.

"But I get home before you," I said. "So what?" he said. "Soooooo, I feel compelled to dump the cat litter," I said.

"What sense does that make?"

"Well, uh, you called off our first wedding and I had to throw away 100 invitations, lost my deposit on my dress and I had to tell all my family members that you dumped me!" (Ladies, when in doubt, dig deep for that one offense which will make him feel guilty until the day he dies. Any sort of major disappointment, fooling around or abandonment will usually do fine.)

Seriously, is it so hard to understand why I'd like a couple of chores done when I come home? I can't sit down and relax, knowing that there's cat litter waiting to be dumped.

I have to get up and do it. Back to the 14 hours thing. It is absolutely true.

My evenings are filled with a million little insignificant tasks. As far as I can determine, Mr. Half's mornings -- he's a night worker -- are filled with Jerry Springer.

I had to work on Sunday this week. After an eight-hour shift at work, I returned home to find two things accomplished: Mr. Half had been to the grocery store and made spaghetti. Still, he had the nerve to fish for compliments.

"Hey, how much sauce do you want on the spaghetti I MADE FOR YOU!" he said. "And if you want dessert, you might consider some of the treats I BOUGHT AT THE STORE."

In eight hours, I could have done six loads of laundry, cleaned the house, cooked spaghetti and given myself a manicure.

And don't even get me started on the fact that while The Other Half was perfectly capable of doing laundry while a single male in his own apartment, he now claims that he has no idea how to wash laundry without ruining all of it.

Yes, it's driving me crazy, but I've decided to go ahead and give him positive reinforcement anyway. At least then he'll do SOMETHING.

And maybe I'll only spend 13 hours of my free time shoveling cat litter and washing dirty socks.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who lives in Pensacola Florida.