I sit here writing this as my man industriously slaves away over a hot stove, preparing a treacle tart for a dinner party later tonight. I’m sat sprawled out on the sofa reading the Guardian weekend magazine. Yup, this is the life.
Now, flash back fifty or sixty years ago and this would probably be a pretty unusual scene in most British houses – not all, but most. I would be expected to be dusting or baking away while he did manly things like fix chairs, mow the lawn or go into that ‘off-bounds-to-the-female zone’, the loft.
I like to think we are a modern couple because we don’t adhere to gendered expectations of what a stormy Saturday should entail. Later, I’ll be making brownies while preparing a global news presentation and he will probably fix my broken chair as his tart cools on the counter. Let’s all be equals.